


The Changeling

by LeafontheWinf2



Series: The Changeling Verse [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Celtic Mythology, Irish Mythology, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, BAMF Moms Club, Brooklyn, Bucky is magic, Captain America: The First Avenger, Coming of Age, Crossdressing, Demons, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Golems, Great Depression, Irish Sarah Rogers, Irish Steve Rogers, Kid Bucky Barnes, Kid Fic, Kid Steve Rogers, M/M, Magical Creatures, Magical Realism, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Romanian Bucky Barnes, Steve is a demigod, Super Soldier Serum, True Love, WWII, Witchcraft, Witches, genderqueer themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-10-18 16:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17584445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeafontheWinf2/pseuds/LeafontheWinf2
Summary: Steve was born with magic in his veins. The magic that drove him on to fight, do protect, to defend with every breath in his frail body. His mother and Brooklyn will guide him towards greatness, with the Barnes family defending his back and Bucky by his side.After all, the serum onky amplifies what is already there. And Steve was born to change the world.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Waking Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10984809) by [Tobi_Black](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tobi_Black/pseuds/Tobi_Black). 
  * Inspired by [he's got a heart made out of stone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1593179) by [darth_stitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darth_stitch/pseuds/darth_stitch). 



> This story has taken a year to write. I started chapter one last January, and then it paused as I got distracted before frantically returning to this after I went to Europe this past summer and remembered how much I love it there. And I remembered that my first love in writing is fantasy/magical realism so I went with it. 
> 
> So, the basics of this is Steve is descended from one aspect of the Tripple Goddess (there are so many, I spent six months just figuring out which one I wanted) and in this first part I want to set up how the magic influences him before getting deep into MCU. 
> 
> Also, if it’s a Stucky Story about magic I was inspired. Mainly by Tobi_Black’s masterpiece series “Til the end of the line” and Darth Stitch’s “Count Buckula Verse”. Seriously. I love their stuff so much.

When Steven Rogers was born, he wasn’t expected to last long at all. The doctors and nurses all informed poor widow Sarah Rogers that he wouldn’t be long for this word and to get a priest to call last rites. Poor thing, the nurses would whisper about the mother, with a child not going to last the night, no doubt she will be mourning soon. 

But Sarah Rogers did not mourn her child. Though his spine was crooked, and he could barely breathe, she looked into bright blue eyes and new he would be fine because his eyes burned with Power this New World knew not. A Power that ran through his mother’s blood back from the Old Days.

(If they had been in the old country, Sarah would not have dealt with nurses and doctors and their too sad eyes. She would have been dragged out of bed by her cheering clan and dragged to wild where she would present her boy to the Máthair Mhór of her family. And Máthair Mhór would grin and give Sarah’s boy her blessing and welcome to the world as a son of the family. He would learn the lore, but not have a woman’s touch for it so not learn the power. But this was not the old country, and widow Sarah and her boy were alone with the sad eyed nurses.)

Every hour in the hospital, Sarah would whisper to her A thaisce that he would live, and fuck those who told him otherwise. That he was stronger than anyone knew. She held her baby close, wrapped him in warm blankets and pressed his tiny cheek to her breast so he could hear how her heart beat so his tiny frail one would copy it. Copy who her heart beat, lungs expanded, and blood sang in order to live sweet child for mother loves you more than anything. 

And copy her heart Steven did. Every beat, every breath was learned from her. The determination, the grit, the remaining Wild of the old blood transferred from mother to child. And a fighter was born.

It was a very smug Sarah Rogers who left the stunned hospital with her very alive baby two days after his birth. Her litter fighter glaring definitely at the nurses as he was sent home with his mother, refusing to bow to expectations. Sarah was stupidly proud of the already developed fighting glare her boy got from Sarah’s side of the family. He was going to be a Mama’s boy, that she already knew and it was what led Sarah to do something quite mad. 

She should go home because it was snowing and her baby was already shivering. But something in Sarah’s blood urged her away form the warm room and onto a train taking her out and away from the city. Her blood sang and shrieked to gogogo away from metal and glass to sky and grass and tree. She wasn’t in the old country, surrounded by the trees and grass of her people, but the wild here was good enough. Enough of the Irish had walked here for her to call on Máthair Mhór for a blessing for her child. 

She traveled all night on the train, keeping a careful eye on her son and keeping him warm. He listened to her heart beat and continued to learn on the train, the station, and then on the frozen grass of upstate New York. He listened to a heart beat and blood sing as his defiant mother stomped over frozen grass and into the woods, following the wind the stars and the moon to a snow covered clearing. 

They must have made a sight, Sarah standing in a threadbare coat and hat, holding a bundle of blankets that was baby shaped and squirming. Long blond hair whipped in the bitter wind as she stared at the clearing, waiting until the time was right.

And when the moon was directly overhead, the time came. The wind stopped trying to tear and mother and child, the snow stopped muffling the noise. One moment Sarah stood defiant, the other a women stood across from the mother. 

Sarah’s Máthair Mhór was a tall woman with curly white blond hair tangled in a bun. Her jaw was too strong and her nose too big to be beautiful, but she was handsome in her military uniform. Sarah’s scowl at the world in general could been seen in the corners of a smiling mouth, and both women shared wild blue eyes. The resemblance was striking and anyone who saw them would think them sisters. 

But they were not sisters.

“Máthair Mhór,” Sarah announced, breath puffing out white, “I have brought my son to present to you as part of the family.”

A thick eyebrow rose, the smile turning a bit wry. “A bit late Sarah my own,” the woman’s accented voice rose above the trees and vibrated through snow, “You were supposed to come on the first day.”

Sarah's scowl turned mulish (an expression her son would learn), “The doctors wouldn’t let us leave until today. Said my A thaisce was too weak to live, but when he proved them wrong we came straight here.”

“A fighter,” the woman breathed out in delight crossing over the snow to take little Steven from his mother. Calloused hands pulled the blankets backs, revealing a tiny scowling pink face who glared up at the woman forcing him to face the cold. For her part, she just stared back. Her expression turning more and more wondering at each second.

Sarah, who knew her Máthair Mhór had seen many things in her long life, couldn't help the striding of unease watching the surprise and wonder on the timeless face. Silence continued to stretch until electric blue eyes looked up at Sarah.

“Sarah my own, what exactly did you do?” She demanded, “Did you already get a blessing or get the poor dear baptized?” 

“No. I just held him and loved him,” Sarah huffed, hands on her hips, “Just as any decent mother does.”

“You did something, there’s something off with this one. You told him something,” the woman huffed before turning back to Steven with a ponderous scowl. 

“I told him to copy my heart and lungs to live,” Sarah announced. 

And that brought a grin to the woman’s face. “Ah, that’s what it is. Well Sarah you will have an obedient son cause he followed your directions. His heart, lungs, and blood are a copy of your song. All of it.”

Sarah, who knew her hearts song, paled. Long ago, her Máthair Mhór had started Sarah’s family back when magic and heroes were common. Máthair Mhór’s warrior blood sang against injustice and cruelty, and the women of her family inherited that song. It pushed them to fight for what is right, to defend the weak and downtrodden, to never surrender in the face of adversity. It was part of each and every one of them for generations. Over the years, the song had faded and the sight of Máthair Mhór had faded along with it. 

Until Sarah Rogers (then Grant) had been born. Her song was bright and loud, calling Máthair Mhór back to the world. Sarah had fought injustice with every bone of her body much to the dismay of her family, and Máthair Mhór had guided her on. Sarah had been a handful that turned her mother’s hair gray.

And now she was finding out that her son would be just as much trouble.

“But that’s impossible,” Sarah whispered, “The song only appears in women, the power only appears for daughters. Everyone knows that.”

Máthair Mhór smiled a secret smile. “It is true, but this one has a woman’s soul now from copying yours. Magic is fickle and changes like water in a stream. Had you presented the boy to me moments after his birth so my blessing could give him his strength, his soul would still have been male. But he’s copied your soul for too long, and new born souls are impressionable.” Her smile turned blood thirsty, “So now he’s got my magic running through his veins.”

Sarah let out a pitiful groan as her laughing Máthair Mhór handed Steven over. She could already imagine how difficult it would be to raise a wild child fighting for justice. It was going to be an uphill battle. 

(Across the clearing, Badb Catha smiled to herself as her eyes danced like blue flame. She could already See that her grandson would be a fighter, standing up against all the challenges and difficulties the world threw at him. He was a chip off the old block that Steve, and he would accomplish great things. So her blessing was that he would live a long life filled with love and joy. 

Because Badb did love her grandchildren so.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he was little, Steve often felt like there was a piece of his soul missing. It didn’t hurt exactly, but it was persistent and present in every waking and sleeping moment. It often led to Steve creeping out of the apartment when his mother’s back was turned and running through the back alleys of Brooklyn searching for the missing piece of his soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! Starting to get into the fun of our boys figuring out their magic. In this chapter we learn about baby Steve and his genetic need to fight everything.
> 
> Plus, we get to meet little Bucky. (They’re so cute in my head.) And some more mythical world building which is my favorite because I am super nerdy! Seriously, I have journals filled with myths for this story.

When he was little, Steve often felt like there was a piece of his soul missing. It didn’t hurt exactly, but it was persistent and present in every waking and sleeping moment. It often led to Steve creeping out of the apartment when his mother’s back was turned and running through the back alleys of Brooklyn searching for the missing piece of his soul.

He looked in doorways, by the docks. Slipped into speakeasys, hid out in neighborhoods people frequently tried to forget. One memorable time, he even managed to scramble his way through a tear in screen door and tumbled into a brothel. The women had been shocked, the charmed and amused expressions on their faces when he explained very seriously he was looking for part of his soul. So precious, they called him, before giving him some candy and waving him back outside.

(At night, Steve dreamed of mist filled fields and ancient forests. In each dream, a tall blond woman was waiting for him, a crow perched on her shoulder. She would draw him into her lap and explain what he was looking for. Soulmate, she whispered, the other part of your soul. The one who will make you truly happy my sweet so keep looking.)

It started when Steve was four and his mother working extra shifts at the hospital. The only time it stopped was when an illness laid Steve up and he physically couldn’t sneak out of the apartment. 

Things changed when Steve was seven. He was still searching for his missing soul, but he refused to give up so every morning he went out walking. On a misty morning, Steve was scrambling around the alleys when a large black crow flew down to land in front of him.

He froze, mouth hanging open in shock, staring at the glossy black feathers and fathomless black eyes ringed with blue. Steve’s blood began to sing, rising up and sending him stumbling after the bird which took wing. The little boy raced after the crow, his asthma not even acting up as he ran and the crow led him onwards.

It finally alighted on a fire escape, but Steve didn’t have eyes for that. Instead, he had eyes for a group of boys throwing rocks at a black cat cowering in the alley. 

Steve’s eyes narrowed, a line appearing between furrowed brows. His chin raised in defiance and his little hands formed fists.

Back in Ireland, this look couple with the too large nose and stubborn chin were well known. The Catha Glower, they all muttered with wary hesitation in their eyes, learned from Badb Catha and a sign of a charge to battle. Everyone knew it, and everyone feared it. 

But this was Brooklyn, not Ireland, and no one knew the Catha Glower who wasn’t Irish and these boys were not Irish. So they did not know the warning signs, and were then surprised by a furious Steven Rogers charging them with a war cry and swinging fists. Due to pure shock, Steve won that fight. 

(High above, the crow cackled with a bright laugh as it watched it's dear grandson fight.)

After that day, Steve’s life changed. Some days he went out to search and nothing happened. Other days the crow appeared and he followed it to some injustice and threw himself into the thick of it. By the time he was seven and three quarters, Steve had fought all the neighborhood bullies twice, defended the honor of six girls, saved twelve street cats and dogs, and taken out four kids for racist remarks. He was a menace mothers said before demanding that you control your son, Sarah!

Sarah, for her part, always nodded seriously before going home. There she would tug Steve into her arms and explain very seriously the correct way to throw a punch and how to take on multiple opponents. Steve always nodded, and took her words to heart. He was a momma’s boy in the worst way possible, and had inherited Sarah’s righteous fury. The same righteous fury that had led one Joseph Rogers to drag her kicking and screaming from Ireland when she tried to fight the Black and Tan bastards by herself. 

So Steve continued terrorizing jerks and following the crow around to fights. He got wilder and wilder when out of the disapproving look from his mother when he puffed up like an alley cat. But life moved on.

It was summer when Steve’s life changed again. He had followed the crow, his Máthair Mhór, to battle to defend a Jewish boy from the asshole Thompson boys down the street. It had been a valiant effort, Steve against two boys much larger than him (everyone was larger than him) but he was losing. The boy was on the ground, getting his face pounded in when the crow cawed loud and long. For a second Steve wondered why the caw sounded, and then a shrieking ball of rage slammed into the Thompson boys.

Steve sat staring dumbly, blood pouring out of his broken nose, as he watched another boy beat the tar out of the Thompson boys, sending them scampering home with their tail between their legs. Then the boy turned, kneeling before Steve with his floppy brown hair and gorgeous worried blue eyes. “Hey,” he asked gently, “You okay?”

And Steve’s soul let out a joyous note as it discovered it's missing piece. A bright smile crossed his face. Teeth bloody, eyes sparkling like stars, Steve reached out and grabbed the other boy’s hands. The other boy was leaning back, looking rather freaked out, and staring at Steve like he was a loon.

“My name’s Steve,” he blurted out in that socially awkward way he would always carry, “And we should be best friends forever!”

“Um...yeah sure,” the other boy muttered, “I’m James?” 

Despite the questioning tone coming from James, Steve’s smile grew even brighter. He leaned forward quickly and pressed a quick kiss to James’s cheek, making the other boy turn bright pink from embarrassment. Then hand in hand they went running off to play under the watchful eye of a doting crow.

At dinner time, James had somehow become Bucky who decided Steve was the greatest thing ever in return. They showed up covered in dirt on Sarah’s doorstep with great big grins and from then on were inseparable. It was always Steve charging ahead to fight injustice with Bucky behind him to pull him out to safety. 

Honestly, it was a survival instinct for their mother’s to become best friends. When both of their boys were terrors together, the only way they could possibly stay on top of bloody noses and split knuckles was to tag team the two brats.

Steve was still small with a crooked spine and a failing heart. Everyone knew it was just a matter of time before Steve’s little heart gave out. And they also knew that he was determined to rid the world of injustice before that happened. He was often seen running around, fists swinging and mouth yelling a mile a minute. Often the poor dear picked fights too big for him and Bucky would have to wade in and save the child from getting himself killed. 

They grew like weeds (well Bucky grew like a weed and Steve grew like a lopsided begonia) and everyone knew to look out for SteveandBucky. Which was why Sarah decided to break family tradition in the most important way that mattered.

It happened when Bucky was nine and Steve eight in December. Steve was sick again, curled up in bed and hacking and wheezing to the point where everyone was worried his lungs would give out. Sarah had stopped eating or sleeping, she’d simply crawled into Steve’s bed and held him close. 

Winifred Barnes had taken it upon herself to keep her friend and her son’s...whatever Steve was to Bucky fed and alive through the winter and started cooking the family meals. And Bucky of course refused to be left behind if Winifred was visiting the Roger’s so he always came with. 

That was the situation that December night, Winifred and Sarah talking softly over stew while the boys were curled up together like puppies in Steve’s bed. Bucky was softly coaxing Steve to eat and keep his strength up. Steve was too tired to scowl so he ate slowly, head pillowed on Bucky’s shoulder. 

“It’s getting late,” Winifred announced once Steve had eaten half a bowl of stew, “Bucky and I should be heading back home…”

“If it's alright Winnie, I’d like Buck to stay the night,” Sarah admitted softly. “I’m telling Steve the family history, and I already know he’ll tell Buck tomorrow so it's just easier if it happens all at once.”

Winifred took one look at the boys and quickly agreed. She kissed the boys good night and headed out the door, leaving Sarah alone in the room with her two boys.

Getting up, Sarah quickly climbed into the bed with her boys. She tugged them over until they were piled in her lap. Bucky liked to press into her shoulder, bony chin digging into the muscle so he could look up at her. Steve still pressed an ear to her heart and listened to the beat (the song the flow that made him shaped him guided him taught him) when Sarah would talk to him like this.

Already the boys had heard stories of the Old Country. Of the Sidhe, both Unseelie and Seelie, the old gods and goddesses, the Morrigan, the Triple Goddess, and great heroes. Both boys loved the stories and listened with bright smiles and learned about the world that lurked just out of sight. 

“My boys, I’ve told you many tales already,” Sarah announced, her voice dropping into her story teller one that captivated the boys, “About heroes and gods and monsters, but this is the most important one you will ever hear!”

“Why?” Bucky asked as Steve wheezed in air. “Is it about a great hero Mrs. Rogers?”

“No Bucky, it's about our family.”

He frowned, a boyish pout, “Yours and Stevie’s?”

“No, our family,” Steve announced fiercely before Sarah could even open her mouth. Her precious boy threw himself forward, wrapping his arms around Bucky and clinging close, “You’re one of us Buck, just like we’re Barnes with you.”

Sarah smiled down at the boys. How precious they looked, cuddling close and staring up at her with big blue eyes. “My A thaisce is right. You’re family Bucky Barnes and don't you ever forget it,” Sarah pressed quick kisses to the boys cheeks, “This story is not of the Rodgers, though your father Stevie was a great man. This one is of my family line and goes far far back to the beginning of time.

“Back when the world was young and magic hung in the air, gods and goddesses walked the earth and guided the people. There were many types, but in Ireland there were three who were incredibly powerful. Three sisters, the Triple Goddess, walked the earth. Bright Macha with her red hair, wild Badb Catha with her laughter, and cold Morrigan with her ravens.”

Both boys shrunk into her sides. “The Morrigan?” Steve whispered fearfully, big blue eyes wide. 

(Outside, a crow cackled loudly. Though the three in the apartment couldn’t see, it was nudging a very done looking raven with its beak.)

“Yes the Morrigan, but she’s not the focus of this story,” Sarah grinned at twin sighs of relief. “Today, we talk about Badb Catha. She’s wild like the wind and forests, with a bright grin, golden hair, and eyes like the sky. A beauty to be sure, but there was more to her than just good looks.

“Badb Catha was a goddess of war, but not pointless wars. She fought for justice, to defend those who needed it, to protect. And for years, she was content to simply live. Until the Northmen came to conquer. Badb Catha went to battle with her blue eyed crows, and helped drive them out of Ireland. 

After that, Badb Catha started to notice something. The magic which had once been everywhere, was starting to fade away. Some of the wonder was leaving the world, and decided to make sure that her people would always be protected. So she found herself a husband, made him commit to her, and they had two children. A boy and girl. The boy was kind and just, protecting like his mother. But the girl...there was something more about her. 

“A bit of Badb Catha was in her daughter. And in the daughter's daughter, and in every girl of the line. Now the boys were still good and just, but they didn’t have that magic. Only the girls did, and you could tell because of this,” Sarah held out her arm, turning it over so the boys could see the soft underside of it. On the inside of Sarah’s wrist was a small green Celtic circle with a flying crow in the center. It was beautiful, detailed, and vibrant green that was not natural. 

Bucky ran his fingers over the mark, eyes wide, “What is it?”

“The mark of Badb Catha, given to all her daughters,” Sarah explained, “The physical connection between her and her granddaughters.”

Steve frowned, his tiny brows furrowed, “I’m not going to have one, am I?”

“Honestly, A thaisce, I’m not sure,” Sarah sighed, “When you were born Stevie, you were very sick. A tradition in the family is to present newborns to Badb Catha in a wild space so she can bless us in the Old Way into the Catha Clan, because she loves all of us even if we don’t all have her magic. But because you were ill, it took a while to get you to her.”

“You had me copy your heart and lungs,” Steve announced proudly, “So I’d be alive.”

“Yes baby, I did,” Sarah kissed his golden hair, “And that’s the thing. You listened to my heart Stevie, which signs with Badb Catha’s magic and your heart copied it. Your heart has her magic, which is why you can see her crows and follow them into trouble.”

“Stevie’s magic?” Bucky whispered.

“He could be Bucky-boy. But we don’t know yet,” Sarah admitted, “If he gets the mark on his wrist then he is magic. If not, then he’s still got the calling seeing how many fights he gets into, but doesn’t have the magic.”

Sarah can honestly admit she isn’t sure which option terrifies her more. Steve with Badb’s magic sending him rushing to battle, or him without it and still picking fights. 

Two weeks later, the boys are at Sarah’s for Steve’s birthday. They’re sucking on peppermint sticks when Steve lets out a pained shriek. Sarah drops everything and she and Bucky crowd around Steve as the now nine year old yells as his flesh bubbles and shifts. 

Minutes later, it's done and a weepy Steve curls into Bucky’s protective arms as Sarah pulls out his arm. And just as she suspected, a green circle with a crow is present on his wrist. Sarah turns to stare at out the window as Bucky fusses over the boy. A crow with blue rings around its iris sits there, staring at them with smug pride. 

Sarah rolls her eyes at her Máthair Mhór and goes back to fussing over Steve. The crow just laughs it's eerie laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason why I had Steve wait until he is nine is because anything divisible three is considered magical. Like, there’s the tripple goddess, spells with nine have more power, etc. 
> 
> Steve’s need to fight things is going to get worse the older he grows, and Bucky is with him. I had the idea that the boys are soulmates because I love that concept and just couldn’t leave it out in a story with magic. Since everything else pretty much exists in this universe, I figured why not add that in as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took forever to set up, mostly because I had to research Hoovervilles and how they worked. The last time I had to worry about that was back in high school. 
> 
> Plus, the Morrigan shows up for the first time and I had to get that all taken care of. Hope you enjoy!

When Bucky first heard Sarah’s Rogers stories about Badb Catha, he hadn't really understood that it meant for Steve. He hadn't a clue that there was now magic running through Steve’s veins pushing him on and on and on. 

He doesn’t know then. He does know by the end of the week. 

The first time they’re playing stickball when a crow’s caw catches Steve’s attention. He looks up, staring at the crow with a reverent expression Bucky has never seen before. “Steve?”

“That’s the blue eyed crow. Like the ones mamaí talks about in her stories,” there’s a sound of worship in Steve’s voice that’s never there in church. When he turns back to Bucky, there are worlds in his blue eyes, “I need to follow it.”

“What?” Bucky sputters out, thrown off by the electric blue in Steve’s eyes, “Why?”

“It brought me to you, so it's important.” The crow caws in agreement and takes flight with Steve racing behind and Bucky stumbles after them cursing and spitting. That day it leads them to a group of bullies picking on little kids. The next day, some jerks telling a black boy he doesn’t belong in the neighborhood. The third day Steve goes to the defense of a stunned looking fairy. And so on and so forth.

The ninth time is when Bucky actually starts screaming at the fucking crow because he is going to skin it for leading Steve into a fight against the actual mob. Because Jesus Christ, really?!

It's after day twelve of this nonsense when Bucky realizes that Sarah Rogers is going to be no help in keeping Steve in one piece. They’re both dragged before her by the ear with black eyes by Mrs. Gaunt after Steve beat the crap out of her boys for calling Paul Wilson a nigger. When the door opens, Sarah stands there with a very disappointed face because she didn’t raise her boys to fight. She frowns and nods along to Mrs. Gaunt’s rage filled spiel about how Steve should not go around attacking innocent children like her precious boys!

It's loud. Mrs. Gaunt is unnecessarily dramatic, screeching at the top of her lungs and getting every door in the complex open. Bucky turns bright red and tries to sink into the ground as everyone watches the show. Eventually Sarah managed to sound contrite enough for Mrs. Gaunt who leaves. 

“Right then,” Sarah announced and everyone in the complex leans forward to watch and Bucky just knows his hide will be tanned, “Steven?”

“Her no good son called Paulie a nigger and pushed him in the mud,” Steve bites out, “So I pushed my fist into his face.”

Sarah levels them both with a very unimpressed look to the point where even Steve starts to look cowed. Just as they’re physically starting to squirm, her face breaks into a wide grin before she pulls them both into a hug. “That’s my boys! Excellent work! Bet those brats won't do that again!”

Bucky can only stare slack jawed because this cannot be real. No way is this happening. Distantly he can hear the mutters of Sarah’s neighbors, all Irish, grumbling about how there’s a Catha boy now and won't that cause problems.

Catha, Bucky Barnes will come to learn, is the name for whatever the hell is wrong with the whole Rogers family and their insane desire to punch injustice out of the world. He will hear stories from the Rodger’s neighbors when they grab Steve to warn him to think boy, don't just run in with Catha fury cause that’s how you die. 

It is wild. It is infectious. It will give James Buchanan Barnes grey hairs before he hits the age of sixteen is what Catha is going to do! You stay with him James Buchanan Barnes, his wild blood will drive Steven to ruin if left unchecked.

Secretly Bucky believed the warnings. With each illness, each gasp of breath Steve struggled to take, Bucky blamed on the magic. It was because his Stevie had magic running through his veins which twisted his spine and made his lungs weak. That was why, Bucky determined with a cross look, Steve was so weak. It was all magics fault. (The first time Bucky announces he hates magic at home, his mother chokes on her soup for a solid ten minutes before waving it off. However, after that night there is always a gleam in her eyes as she watches Bucky grow.)

It came to a head when Steve turned fourteen. Steve had been running after the damned crow again during the cold winter months and thrown himself head first into a new fight. It ended when Bucky threw himself in as well, but by that point Steve had been dumped in an icy puddle.

Which was the last thing Bucky wanted for his best friend. It was bound to make Steve ill.

Without hesitating, Bucky scooped Steve up like a kitten and cradled his friend close to his chest. Steve was already shivering, his lips turning blue as his teeth chattered. “Put me down,” he hissed trying to push his way to freedom, “Put me down Buck! I can walk, I’m fine.”

“Uh huh,” Bucky snarled as Steve let out a kittenish sneeze, “Say that again when you’re not frozen solid and we can talk.” 

Steve opened his cross mouth to say something sharp, but was caught by a coughing fit that left him gasping for breath against Bucky’s shoulder. Nervous, Bucky stepped up the pace and went running back to Steve’s home as quickly as he could. 

Feet pounding up the rickety stairs, Bucky shouldered his way into the apartment shrieking for Sarah at the top of his lungs. Sarah emerged from her bedroom, wrapping her robe around her (“Night shift,” she had announced a month ago to the boy, “So Bucky, make sure Steve eats, understand?”) before letting out a fierce shriek at the sight of her boy frozen and trembling. 

“Stevie, my Steven, A thaisce, baby what happened,” she moaned carrying her shivering child the the bedroom. Bucky trailed behind like a lost duckling, eyes big and wet with fear as Sarah stripped Steve down and tucked him into bed. “James,” her voice barked, “Grab my quilt and then get over here. We need to warm him up.”

With a determined nod, Bucky scampered into Steve’s room and pulled the threadbare quilt off the bed and rushed back into the room. After a flutter of cloth, bedding, and limbs, the three settled in with a still shivering Steve pressed between them. 

Terrified out of his wits, Bucky snuggled in close to Steve, tucking his best friend’s face into his neck as Sarah wrapped around them both. His eyes were still wet, but Bucky refused to cry. He wouldn't let his tears get Steve even more wet and ill. It wouldn’t happen. 

So Bucky felt it, when icy skin slowly turned burning hot. He held Steve as chattering teeth turned into raspy breaths, and shivers turned into shakes. His Stevie was no longer freezing but burning up and Bucky still didn’t know what to do!

The next morning Steve was even worse. Barely conscious, whimpering and moaning in the night. Bucky hadn’t left Steve’s side still tucked around the ill boy even as a pale faced Sarah dressed herself up for winter. 

“Now, just keep holding him to you James Barnes,” Sarah ordered as she marched to the door like a soldier going to battle, “Don’t you let him go for anything.”

“I won’t ma’am,” Bucky announced solemnly before leaning down to shush Steve as the fever made him call out. Sarah smiled and nodded, before running out the door for a doctor. 

The cold air from outside caused Steve to groan like he was in agony. Terrified by the noise, Bucky tucked the quilts in tighter around Steve and pulled his friend closer. Half remembering Sarah’s stories it just came naturally for Bucky to gently guide Steve’s ear to his heart. A warm hand pressed the tiny ear to the strong beating muscle as Bucky curled around his best friend in the whole world. “Just copy my heart Stevie,” Bucky whispered softly, “Copy my lungs, and don't leave me.”

As Bucky fussed, the shadows in the apartment grew and stretched. He didn’t look up as they twisted together before the bed. He gently brushed sweaty blonde hair to the side as the shadows formed a shape, refused to move as glowing red eyes opened to take in the room.

Gingerly, the great figure cloaked in black let her hood fall back to reveal a pale face to match her ruby eyes. Her head cocked to the side like a raven as she studied the two boys. 

Bucky didn’t even look up to notice her. He was too busy with his Stevie to look up for anything when a throaty voice echoed through the room, “Well now. This is unexpected.”

Bucky startled, curling his arms tighter around his friend. Big blue eyes widened even more at the woman draped in black standing in front of him. He could only watch as she glided across the floor to kneel in front of the bed. 

Her red eyes were watching Steve with an intensity that frankly terrified Bucky. “This is the one who called me here,” she whispered.

Bucky shivered. Her voice felt like hammers against his bones as he shank backwards dragging Steve with him. “Are...are you Badb Catha?”

“No, childe, my sister is not here,” she murmured, “War did not call her here. The scent of death on a gosling brought me from across the sea.”

“The scent...no!” Bucky hissed, his eyes flashing gold as he straightening up with an indignant shriek, “Steve’s not dying! You’re in the wrong place!”

The woman stared at him her ruby eyes searching as they bored in his shining ones. “I assure you I am not childe. His lungs fill with liquid no matter how strongly his heart tries to beat,” she shook her head mournfully, “The poor childe will not last the night.”

“Yes he will! Stevie will be fine! He’s going to be okay,” Bucky snarled even as fat tears started to roll down his face, “He’s not going to leave me! You can’t take him!”

The woman blinked slowly. “Will you offer me something in his stead?” There was a heavy weight to the question.

“What?”

“You heard me childe, will you offer something on his behalf,” she asked softly, “If I asked you to trade me someone’s soul so your friend will live, would you do it?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation. No remorse. Just a promise that promised bloodshed and war. In young eyes, fire burned bright and golden. It threatened to burn worlds down if that was what it took to protect its treasure. It was the look dragons, Kings, and great heroes all shared in common. And it burned in a child’s eyes as that child faced down Death.

And Death smiled. 

“Brave childe, I can see in your eyes that you would do that. So like your grandfather.”

“Is that what you want,” Bucky demanded, “Is that what I need to do to keep Steve safe?”

“I wish it was, but you cannot argue with death. It must always come when scheduled. I'm sorry.” 

And Bucky’s heart shattered. Great heaving sobs full of grief and bitterness ripped from him as Death placed her hand on Steve’s tiny head. He squeezed his eyes shut in denial and so missed Death’s sad smile turning to a puzzled frown.

Strange, she mused, the boy’s lungs were full of water but refused to give up. They breathed in and out, in and out, following a pattern that it refused to deviate from. They were battered, but would not break, so she moved to the heart. The heart was shining, singing with magic. It beat boldly a study stream of BuckyBuckyBucky that flowed through the small body. 

And Death knew then that she could not take this boy. Here was the thing. Her sister’s children had a gift. Badb knew better than anyone that her drive could cause a person to give out from exhaustion so she sang a promise into their hearts. A match to temper and guard them, a second half of their soul to love them and stand by them for eternity. A sacred bond even Death respected and here it was singing between two tiny Brooklyn boys on a musty mattress. 

These boys, Death mused, would accomplish great things. 

So with a gentle smile she raised her hand to cup Bucky’s cheek. His mournful bright eyes stared at her, not registering the now gentle face. “But it seems that this one has a greater density than Death,” she announced grinning at his wide eyed look of delight, “Now you listen carefully to me James Buchanan Barnes. My nephew will change the world, but he can’t do it alone. He will need his partner to temper him so he doesn't burn himself out.”

She held up her other hand in protest when Bucky’s mouth opened. “I know you love my nephew. And I know your Church and family say it is wrong. Well childe, I am older than both of them and I can tell you now that there is nothing wrong with loving Steven. It is built into your souls by magic far beyond comprehension. That is to be celebrated, not disgusted by. So James, please love my lionhearted nephew the way he deserves and I will not take him from you.” She pulled back her hand, holding it out to shake, “Deal?”

“Deal,” Bucky announced, shaking once firmly, “Now go away so you don’t scare Stevie when he wakes up and give him a heart attack.”

A surprised bark of laugh left Death before she faded back into the shadows, leaving a very smug and protective Bucky to keep watch over his Stevie. Little by little, the unnatural,light faded away leaving blue eyes to keep watch over his everything. A little smirk danced across his face when the bundle he had shifted.

“Buck?” Steve rasped out, tiny hand reaching up to grasp Bucky’s shirt, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, don’t you worry your pretty head Stevie,” Bucky announced firmly, “You just focusing on getting better. I'm here to take care of you.” Then, decisively, he leaned down to press a kiss to Steve’s forehead.

(Death watched all this with a small smile, even as a muscled arm wrapped around her shoulders. 

“You know,” Badb announced brightly, “You just created a monster with that sister. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“I really am,” Death responded coolly, “Because only a monster can keep up with your insane boy.” And Badb threw back her golden head and laughed.)

Things didn’t really change after that. Steve was still ill, and he still wheezed with every breath and was weaker than a kitten. His frail little fingers often stayed wrapped in Bucky’s shirt as he listened to his best friend spin outlandish stories of magic and the things they would accomplish. Bucky painted pictures of adventure and pirate ships and witches and crows all to make his ill friend smile happily. 

Bucky never said anything about the red eyed woman to Sarah. He didn’t mention it or even hint at it, but she still leaned down to press a grateful kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “Thank you for watching out for my boy,” Sarah whispered to the blushing child while Steve slept peacefully, “You’re the only one I trust with him.” 

Bucky, pleased as punch, had just cuddled closer to Steve. It felt like a sacred duty now to keep his Stevie safe and secure. Like there was magic running through his veins now, just like Stevie and Sarah, to protect and provide and shelter.

As winter began to melt away, Steve slowly began to get better. He could stay awake longer than before, could breathe easier, but still gazed at Bucky like he hung the sun and the moon.

“I had a dream,” Steve whispered one night as they both cuddled together under the covers, “In it you saved me from death.”

“Well, yeah,” Bucky whispered back, “You’re my best guy. I'm not letting you go anywhere.” 

And Steve had smiled sweetly back, leaving forward to press a quick kiss to Bucky’s cheek. It was childish and sweet, but still caused Bucky to glow bright red and try to hide his glowing face in the pillows. Steve had giggled and snuggled closer. 

But even as Steve got better, Sarah Rogers got worse. She grew a bit more pale, a bit more pinched. She was still gentle with the boys, but she was more silent around George and Winifred Barnes (who came over every other day to check on the Rogers and their son, who still hasn't come home James Buchanan you ridiculous boy) when they came over to make sure the family was still eating. Every now and then Bucky’s sisters were brought in and they would clamber into the sick bed with the boys and cuddle close to play house. 

Sarah also spent a lot of time speaking the landlord. After every discussion, she looked more and more exhausted. Everyone picked up on it. The entire block knew something was wrong, but Sarah wouldn’t tell. The whispers flew around as they tried to figure what to do to help her because Sarah was the kindest woman they knew who fought for justice and honor no matter what. They wouldn’t leave her out to dry. 

Eventually Steve was fine and Bucky was sent home. When it was just the two of them left, Sarah dragged her son into her arms and struggled not to cry. 

“A thaisce, I’m going to need you to be very brave very soon. Do you understand?” Steve nodded, letting his mother tuck him in closer to her. “You know that medicine means money, right?”

“Course mamí, I'm twelve not stupid.”

“Right well. I had to make a choice A thaisce between you living or the rent. No Steven, you needed medicine and I made it happen,” Sarah announced, “But that meant there wasn’t money for the rent. Now, the landlord agreed to let us stay until you were better. And now you’re better.”

“That's why you sent Bucky home,” Steve whispered slowly. “Because we need to leave.”

“We're not telling anyone, because this is not permanent,” Sarah’s voice rung with otherworldly authority, “We’re going to be able to come back home as soon as we save up enough money. But for now, we do what we must. For we are Irish, and we endure every storm and emerge stronger at the end. Pack up what you need. We leave tonight.”

Two hours later, Steve had a suitcase packed and a rucksack over his shoulder. His mother also had her suitcase in hand and another few rucksacks full over her shoulder. They marched determined down the streets, heads up and ready to go to battle against poverty and starvation. She’d already prepared, Sarah told Steve on the long walk, she would not leave them stumbling about in the streets to get murdered or robbed. Shelter was made, and they were moving in tonight. 

It was closer to morning though when they arrived. Dawn was near starting to break when they stumbled onto Central Park. Sarah led them through the park to a ramshackle collected of shacks leaning together in the predawn light. “Now sweetheart, we’re going to be going to stay with a friend I have,” Sarah announced leading Steve passed bleary eyed men and women stumbling out of the shacks to greet the day, “She’s agreed to let us stay so long as we can help. So we are going to help to the best of our abilities.” 

Which of course they would, that's what Steve and Sarah did. Still, Steve nodded his head and followed his mother to one of the huts where a tall woman was standing over a slow burning cooking fire. She looked up as the pair approached, a slow smile breaking across a careworn face. 

Sarah smiled back, “Stevie, this is Candice. We work together and she's letting us stay here.”

“Work together,” Candice snorted, “Dear girl, I'm one of the cleaning ladies and you're a nurse.”

“Why yes you are,” Sarah nodded as she dumped her bags on the earth, “And what do we say about cleaning ladies?”

“That without them Western civilization would ground to a halt cause doctors are too fucking stupid to clean up after themselves,” Steve parroted back, smiling up at the now laughing woman.

“Dear lord, that boy’s is just like you,” Candice muttered. “All righteousness and no sense.” 

The two Rogers just grinned back proudly.

Candice turned out to have three small children, who Steve would now be minding when the women went to work. Her husband was in the west and sent money back to help out, but it wasn't much. So she worked cleaning floors and windows at the place where Sarah worked as a nurse and they left the kids behind in Hooverville.

Steve spent the day watching over three subdued children. They'd gather together in the shack and Steve would whispered stories to them, stories they had gotten from Bucky and made the children smile. Sometimes they would wander outside and see the other residents of Hooverville. 

Steve became the favorite pretty damn quickly of all the mothers because he was always willing to watch another kid. Steve always just smiled, and added another little one to his gaggle of kids. He watched them like a hawk (or more accurately like a crow) and made sure all the kids were safe. That got around camp, and led to everyone knowing how wonderful Steve was and they all looked out for him. 

When not watching the kids, which was rare, Steve was helping bums, whores, and broken vets with chores and a bright smile. He organized the children to help as well, telling them it was a game and keeping the world running as normally as possible in the camp for the kids. 

Sarah was much the same. Widow Rogers was also ready to help anyone out, much to Candice and her family’s amusement. She would work with the best of them and ran a different shack hidden from view for girls in trouble in the family way. Steve learned real quick to just lead them there, take the pennies if they offered them, then disappear to watch the kids. 

Life passed slowly in Hooverville. Every day was about survival. Steve learned to eat fried dough, withered cabbages, and anything else that was semi-edible. He learned to survive, even when he coughed hard enough to rattle his bones. It was hard, but he was brave and he would continue to survive because his mother needed him to. So he ignored the crows, and focused on keeping her from worrying about him.

(Speaking about worry, all of Brooklyn Heights was in a panic. Winifred had discovered the missing Rogers first and raised the alarm. Everyone, men, women, and children, were mobilized the try and find them. Bucky led gangs of kids through back alleys looking for Steve while George Barnes looked for Sarah.

Winifred was also the first to discover the landlord had kicked the mother and son out when she stumbled across him pawning Sarah’s fine china for a profit. It took three men to pull her off the poor bastard and he would probably never walk right again. “Terrifying Romanian,” one man who pulled her off whispered at a bar, like he was afraid she would find him, “No wonder she's friends with Rodgers.”)

Steve got used to the hunger and the cold at night. He slept in a puppy pile with Candice’s children to keep warm. Steve learned how to cook, boiling everything to take a bit of stress of the women's shoulders when they came home after working till it felt like their feet would bleed. 

He became mother to those kids. Mother who fussed and sent them to school even when he never went anymore. He gave up his education because he was too focused on survival to care. He gave up his childhood so other kids could keep theirs. Sacrifice. That ran through his veins like magic as well he would give and give until there was nothing left. Because that was all he could do. 

(Bucky was heartbroken, but refused to let it show. He was going to find his best friend no matter what, and nothing would stop him. So Bucky followed crows and ravens who were leading him to Steve but everyone always caught him before he left the block cause they couldn't watch Bucky disappear too. They didn’t care that he kicked and screamed and cried, that his eyes flashed gold in rage as he begged to be allowed to find Steve. They would not lose Bucky, but Bucky would also never stop hunting. So Bucky followed the birds because they loved Stevie and would lead him there.

Love. That was why Bucky searched. He loved his best friend, and it would take a few more years for him to fully comprehend it but he was starting to get why he stood against Death for Stevie. He loved Steve more than life itself, and didn't want to live in a world without him. He wanted to have Steve in his life forever, and if that didn't work then he would join Steve so they could could be together again in death. 

So Bucky followed the birds, and each day came a little closer to Steve.) 

Things were pretty awful, but Steve managed to keep his head up. Even when the snow started to fall and people whispered in fear about frostbite, Steve kept his head up and kept moving forward. He couldn't afford to be afraid when his lungs started seizing up, or when his coughing rattled, or when his finger started to turn blue. Even when his mother started coughing and getting ill, Steve could not afford to cry or worry or let any emotion out.

He had to become ice. Cold, remote, and distant in order to survive. That was his only option. Which was why he kept going even as his lungs started to give out and he coughed up blood. There was no other option.

Across town, Bucky was starting to go insane from the worry. He kept fighting to get out, to follow the crows and ravens. He grew more and more desperate, unwilling to rest when his Stevie was out there in the cold and the snow. 

And he wasn't alone. The Barnes clan joined in, getting more and more worried. The neighbors had generated a look out and people took shifts to find the two. Sarah's Irish neighbors led the way. They knew where to look, knew what gifts to give out for the fair folks blessing and help, knew the signs to look for. The Catha will show us, they murmured together in the dark, look for the crows. 

So when the crows appeared, they stepped back.

Sunday after church, Winifred Barnes was trying to herd her unruly brood back into the apartment. Especially Bucky, she'd had to grab him by the collar so he wouldn't go running back into the alleys. The nervous whispers about the missing Rogers grew as they whispered about the cold and snow when the crow appeared.

A harsh caw cut through the air. Conversation stopped from the Irish parish goers as a regal crow swooped down from the heavens to land in front of the congregation, their hush leading to everyone else falling silent as well. It's blue eyes were locked on Bucky, steely and determined as it cawed again.

“Catha,” Mrs. Riley whispered, drawing her children away from the crow. 

“Winifred,” Jonathan, a dock worker from the old country, hissed, “Let the boy go.”

Winifred, who knew nothing about the Catha, refused. “He needs to go home and rest! He's been running about at all hours of the night!”

“He needs to follow the crow,” Jonathan snapped, quickly backed by the other Irish. 

But Bucky didn't care about any of that. All he cared about was the crow’s blue eyes, the same blue as his Stevie. The pressure, the drive, the need to run built up in him, singing through his veins and giving him the strength to break free from his mother's grip and sprint after the crow.

Shrieks from the congregation followed, before thundering footsteps came pounding after the boy. Bucky didn't care about any of that. He only cared amount following the crow as it flew ahead. 

It led Bucky through streets, down alleys, and over walls. He threw himself through yards, store fronts, and past the newsies. He sprinted for miles, his lungs straining, legs burning, but his body did not give up. It pushed and pushed through the icy air giving him the strength to go on. 

The few people standing before him stepped back in fear as they saw the running boy. Not because Bucky looked particularly fearsome yet, but because of his eyes. They were glowing, bright gold, the same color as a great warrior from a kingdom long ago in a land far away. People saw the glow and threw themselves out of the way in instinctual fear. 

Eventually the crow led Bucky into Central Park. It soared through the ice coated trees, leading the boy deeper into the greenery until it burst into a clearing. Bucky continued to sprint, even as the crow peeled off to wheel into the sky. He didn't need to follow the crow anymore.

His heart was beating him forward, driving him onwards. His blood sang and his breathe screamed for his Stevie, who was so close that he could feel it in the air. Hooverville sped by as Bucky rushed through the tents drawn on and on by an unseen force. 

Until his search came to an end. Finally, after weeks and months of fear and panic, it was over.

Because there, standing in front of a tent was Steve. Too thin, shaking from cold and coughing harshly, but still Steve. Dull blue eyes were locked on the remains of a fire as Bucky went crashing down the mud track, throwing himself forward those last few feet. 

Strong arms wrapped themselves around Steve’s frail shoulders. A surprised gasp left blue lips as Steve was pulled into Bucky's arms, tucked into a familiar chest. Bucky's eyes closed in relief as he tucked Steve under his chin, wrapping himself around the frail blonde.

“Bucky,” Steve whispered, clutching the beloved shirt in his hands, “Bucky, Bucky, you found me.”

“I’m here now,” Bucky whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of Steve’s hair, “I’ve got you Stevie, you’re safe. Nothing will take you away from me.”

Distantly, Bucky was aware if Sarah’s surprised yells. Of Jonathan and George Barnes rushing into the clearing and checking in on the widow, demanding to know what she was thinking disappearing like that any making them all worry. But it wasn't important, not like holding Steve and making sure he was breathing was. 

Pulling his friend, his beloved, closer Bucky murmured, “Time to come home with me now.”

And Steve, who had become ice, thawed. A tiny smile crossed the worn face as he tucked his good ear over Bucky’s heart. “Always,” Steve promised, “I'll always come home to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each of the sister goddesses have different color eyes. War is blue, death is red, and magic is green. I’ve decided that having eye color be assigned to magic would help mundane people figure out who is what, so every creature has an assigned eye color. 
> 
> Seriously, I have taped a piece of binder paper with creatures and eye colors to my wall so I can double check it. I’m a massive dork, and it was the most fun I had all week.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to post this chapter tonight. I’m visiting my parents for the weekend so I had to drive upstate to see them, and got caught in rain and traffic. Seriously. It rains, and Californians forget how to drive. It’s not that hard people!
> 
> But I got it posted, so please enjoy.

After they left Hooverville, Sarah and Steve were both sick for a while. They had managed to survive the winter much to the Barnes family’s relief, but the nasty colds lingered into the summer months. Eventually though, Steve got better and the wild boy was back out to fighting the injustice in the world as he followed the blue eyed crow to battle with an unamused Bucky on his heels. 

Sarah though did not get better. Her cough persisted and slowly and steadily for worse. Her eyes began to dull, her hair lost its luster, and she started to grow too thin. Crows began to gather around the apartment but not the familiar crows of their clan. These were not crows with blue eyes. No, they had glowing red eyes and watched Steve and Sarah fiercely. 

The first day Sarah saw the crow, she turned a horrible ashy color and collapsed to the floor. Bucky and Steve had both panicked before propping her up in a chair and getting her tea. 

“What’s wrong,” Bucky asked softly while Sarah and Steve just looked on with a stoney expression as he glared out the tiny cracked window. Bucky turned to look as well, seeing the crow. “I thought we liked crows?”

“With blue eyes, yes. Not red,” Steve spat out, curling into his mother’s side.

“What’s wrong with red eyed crows?” 

“They’re the messengers of the Morrigan,” Sarah explained gently, carding her hand through Bucky’s hair, “It means someone here will die soon.” Her mouth was a thin line as she pulled her boys in close, kissing the tops of their heads as the red eyed crow watched them.

(That night, Steve dreamed of a wooded glen. He was sobbing helplessly in the grass because he didn’t want to lose his mom, while his grandmother cuddled him close. Badb didn’t tell him not to cry, she just sat as still as the stone to hold him up. Death was coming to their family, they could both feel it. Yet there was nothing they could do to halt it. 

In another dream, Sarah stared fearlessly at her dark haired aunt. “You will not take my son,” Sarah spat darkly glaring at the Morrigan.

“I’m not here for him,” the Morrigan’s horrible voice sunk into bone, “I’m here for you.”

Sarah took in a fortifying breath, “I’m not going yet. My boy needs me still, and I need to make sure he doesn’t get himself killed.”

“Your time has come Sarah Ro…”

“I know, and I will go,” Sarah snapped back looking so like Badb Catha in that moment that even in the Morrigan paused, “But I need to settle my boy first.”

“.... You have a year and a day Sarah. Then you will come with me.”)

Soon after the red eyed crows appeared, Sarah’s illness started to get worse. She grew more fail, coughed more, and sent Steve to the Barnes apartment so he wouldn’t catch her colds and coughs. 

She starts sitting with Winifred at night, both bent over cups of tea whispering about plans to take care of Steve and make sure he’s looked after. Steve and Bucky, listening through the wall, cling to each other for comfort at the cold talks about their future. 

Then one night, a cold November one, Sarah called for Steve to come sit by her bedside. Gently, she took her son’s hands in hers, the pair pressing close. Steve, crying brokenly, begging her not to leave him alone. 

“Oh, my sweet child, my one true love, do not mourn for me,” Sarah murmured, fondly brushing bangs away, “Death is no hardship. It is family, remember?”

“Mamí, I don't want you to go,” Steve, on the cusp of manhood, whimpered like a babe. 

“Did you know, we were given a gift?” Frail hands reached out, gently tapping on the green crow they both shared on their wrist, “One beyond just our magic? Normally we tell children this when they turn eighteen, but I won't last that long.” 

Steve shook his head, crying openly.

“Your Máthair Mhór has looked into your heart, and seen how brightly it blazes. But Steven, all fires can burn out. For your fire to continue, there must be someone there to temper you,” she smiled, joy lighting her eyes. “She gave you a soulmate my dear, someone who will always love you and remain by your side. And while I am heartbroken to leave you, I am not sad or afraid. Because your father, my soulmate, is waiting for me. And your soulmate is here to take care of you.”

Her eyes, already fading, flicked over to land on Bucky who was hovering in the doorway. His eyes were focused on Steve, devotion and love shining brightly in them. It made passing easier, knowing Bucky would be there. “You hold tight to your Bucky Steven,” Sarah murmured, the strength fading, “They can tell you it's wrong, but I know what you two have is right. You’re two parts of the same soul, nothing is more sacred than that.”

“I know Mamí,” Steve murmured pressing a kiss to her greying cheek. He opened his mouth to say something else, but choked on a sob. He wailed when Bucky’s warm arms wrapped around him, dragging him away from his mother and into warm safety. 

Bucky held him gently in his arms the entire night. He brushed away the tears, suffered snot on his collar, and squeezed Steve tight when Sarah stopped breathing. Steve, whose heart had copied her song for long, took in a shuddering breath as his own heart shuddered briefly. For a terrifying moment, it seemed like it would stop, and then it picked up the beat again. 

But this time it was copying Bucky’s heart beat, singing together with Bucky’s blood and breath, tying them closer together. Bucky became the warm shelter for Steve during the funeral, soothing the distraught blonde when grief snuck up on him. When Steve would become motionless and silent from the pain, Bucky was the one who drew him out. Gentle words, strong hands on the back of a fragile neck, and a shared heart song would draw Steve back into the world. 

(Thank God for Bucky Barnes, everyone murmured, without him we would have lost both Rogers this year.)

While Bucky tended to his Steve, Winifred was in charge of arranging the funeral. She could be seen darting from house to house, checking in with the neighbors to see how a proper Irish funeral should be held. It was the only option of course, the only way they could honor a woman whose blond sang for and Emerald Isle and celebrate her life at the same time. 

So celebrate they would.

The day before the funeral, Bucky dragged Steve from the apartment to give Winifred time to work. No one wanted Steve to watch them prepare his mother for the funeral so the entire block turned out to entertain the boy. While the women stepped inside to help direct Winifred (who stepped in for Steve) the children played gently with Steve. Stories were shared, pencils and paper exchanged for the boy to draw on. 

By noon the wake was on. Steve was led to the apartment stoop and settled there with Bucky tucked into his side. Winifred remained inside the apartment, keeping watch on Sarah’s shrouded form laid on the kitchen table to rest with sharp eyes. 

Mourners walked slowly past the boys before kneeling by Sarah’s form, murmuring soft prayers. Various languages mixed together, Italian, English, Russian, Gaelic. All lifted up with prayers for the departed before wandering back outside. There they would rest a hand on Steve’s shoulder, murmuring condolences and letting him know they were with him in this time of need before wandering away. No one offered waited for Steve to respond, knowing he was too broken to say anything back. 

As the day turned into night the mourners grew in the back alleyway by the tenement. Family's brought food and drink, sharing the mix as they reminisced on Sarah’s life. Stories were traded, laughter and tears were abundant as they all thought back on a too short life. 

When dawn broke the feel of the wake changed. Bucky gently gathered Steve into a protective embrace while standing, leading the boy off the stoop as a group of men approached carrying a coffin on their shoulders. 

Steve, already so pale, swooned when he saw the wooden box. Bucky caught him quickly, shuffling the trembling boy out of the way and fussing over him as the pallbearers headed inside. The conversation stopped as everyone watched the closed door. Silence reigned, broken only by Steve’s muffled sobs that were slowly gaining volume.

Steve’s agonized moan washed over the mourners when the door reopened and the pallbearers walked slowly out, coffin resting on their shoulders. Winifred came marching out behind them, her face stoic in public even if her makeup was ruined by previous tears. She zeroed in on the boys, moving directly over to hover over Steve’s hysterical form before catching her son’s attention.

“James, you keep a watch on him,” Winifred commanded knowing her son would comply, “You don’t let Steve out of your sight today. Understand me?”

“Yes ma’am.” 

“Good boy. Let’s go then,” she straightened up, a general standing clearly before the gathered army of the neighborhood before leading the way towards the church. Steve trailed behind her, leaning heavily against Bucky’s side the entire time. They remained pressed together through the service, when walking to the cemetery, even as they buried the coffin in the ground. 

Later that night, when everyone was asleep, Steve slid his way free of Bucky’s arms and stumbled out of their shared bed. The window to the fire escape slid open easily, allowing Steve to walk out onto the fire escape before climbing up. 

Stepping onto the roof, Steve whimpered when he saw the figure standing before him. A wail left him as he sprinted towards the tall, regal figure, flinging himself into warm arms that cradled him close.

“Grandma,” Steve gasped out through his sobs, “Grandma, Mamí’s gone. She’s gone and I’m all alone.”

“Hush child,” Badb murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I am here. Your Bucky is here. Your neighborhood is here. You are not alone even if it feels like it.” She brushed a tear away from his face, “My dear boy. You feel so much, which is why this hurts so very badly. You’re just like your mother, you feel everything in the world.”

“I don’t want to feel anymore,” Steve sobbed, “I want it to stop!”

“One day it won’t hurt so much,” Badb promised, “One day you will be happy and nothing will hurt. Trust me on this little one. Have I ever steered you wrong?”

And Steve, dutiful grandson that he was, believed even when his grandmother left him with the crowing of crows when dawn broke. He trusted her words and stayed close by Bucky’s side while the world moved around them.

And move the world did. Boys grew into men, and men eventually left home. Baby fat faded to lean muscle, jaws turned sharp, and experience settled over Steve and Bucky’s shoulders with each passing season. Eventually Steve began to fight again, following the crows into battle with Bucky tagging along behind.

Later, when both boys were nearly men but not truly so, Bucky shyly took one of Steve’s hands in his own. “I’ve got a new place,” Bucky whispered in the low light, “Stevie…”

“Yes,” Steve whispered back, “I’ll follow you anywhere Bucky.” 

And he did. Life moved on, while Steve and Bucky settled into their new apartment to a new maturing relationship. And one day Steve woke up, and the pain from his mother’s death was gone. Oh, he did miss her dearly. But it no longer felt like his heart was tearing apart. Now it had been filled again, full with new life like the oak tree regrowing after the fire. 

And in the dead of night Steve could admit just to himself that Bucky had filled his heart. But he’d never admit that in the light of day, or to the boy-now-man in question. It was a secret between him and his grandmother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do want to note, that Bucky was the one to encounter Morrigan in the last chapter. Sarah wasn’t there, and Steve wasn’t lucid. So this is the first time they’re really meeting. And yes, the Morrigan is their great aunt by magic, but she’s still death and that’s still terrifying to face which is why Steve and Sarah act so strongly to her.
> 
> Also, a personal head cannon of mine is Winnifred hating the apartment where Steve and Bucky go to live. Cause she has spare rooms, plenty big enough for two boys and what do you mean you’re moving out? That sort of mom-ness is never turned off and makes a force of nature. So yeah, Sarah and Winifred are the awesome mom’s here.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter, things are finally going to get moving. The plan for this chapter was to get Steve and Bucky together officially. It took a ridiculously long time, but I managed to make it happen. Plus we have officially moved out of childhood and into them being young adults so that means jobs, booze, and sex. Yay no parental oversight!
> 
> Also, towards the end we start looking at the first genderqueer identities being set up. That will be further developed later on, but I wanted to start establishing it early.

The new place Bucky bought them was a cesspit. There are cracks in the ceiling and walls. Water stains are already abundant, the stove is lopsided and the floor huddles up in places. Grime stains the walls and window sill, while the doors to the two bedrooms hang crooked. Steve swears he can see cockroaches for a minute before Bucky leads him away.

The apartment is awful, disgusting and awful. But Bucky had purchased it for the both of them and that made it the most beautiful place Steve has even seen in his life. He just knows his eyes are shining brightly as he gazes about it in awe of all Bucky had accomplished in just a little amount of time.

The sound of a suitcase hitting the ground drew Steve back to reality and away from his rose tinted musings. The sound had come from Winfred who had dumped a bag full of Steve’s things on the floor to fix her son with a terrifying glare. George, who knew his wife well, took one glance at her expression and was out the door calling that he was going to pick up supper. 

“James,” Winifred hissed, her eyes flashing darkly in an expression that made half the neighborhood cower from it. 

Bucky though had stopped fearing that look a while ago. Probably through exposure. “Yes mother?” He gave her a guiless look, as if butter couldn’t melt on his tongue, “Whatever seems to be the problem?”

“James,” she hissed again, “This place is a pit of despair.”

Bucky’s nose wrinkled, “That’s a little harsh…”

“I have no doubt this dust and mildew would kill someone of your constitution, let alone Steve’s,” Winifred snapped uncaring of how her son puffed up in rage at the insinuation that his apartment would kill Steve, “How on earth are you going to keep it warm in the winter with all the cracks in the wall!”

“It’ll stay plenty warm,” Bucky huffed out, “The bedrooms are well insulated!”

“Like the kitchen? With a stove that won’t run?”

“It runs fine when you hit it hard enough!”

“There are cracks in the windows!”

“That I can cover!”

“It’s a dump James!”

“It’s the best I could do!”

“Well it’s not go…”

“I like it,” Steve cut in, smiling sunnily at them. At the twin looks of disbelief Steve shrugged before adding on, “Its got character. I like character.” 

Bucky’s shy smile is worth the exasperated look Winifred gives him, but to Steve anything is worth that grin. He would do anything to have Bucky grin like that forever at him. Luckily before Steve could embarrass himself more in front of Winifred, George came back into the apartment with a couple of bags of food and the Barnes girls trailing after them. 

Steve helped George unpack the bags while Winifred managed to pull some plates out of a box and got the food served up. The whole time she grumbled about the difficulty of washing up in this rat trap while nagging Steve to eat more because he was always too skinny. 

It was a great night. Steve laughed more than he had in a long time, giddy with the thought of what would happen when the Barnes left and he was left alone with Bucky in the apartment. The wanderings of his mind took Steve down a dangerous path that left him pink cheeked and flushed which he struggled to get under control before anyone commented on a fever and tried to stay longer to watch over him. 

Eventually though they managed to get the Barnes out of the apartment. Well, Steve said Barnes but he really just meant Winifred who refused to leave before pulling out promises from both boys to look after each other. 

“Yes mother,” Bucky called out, teeth gritted in annoyance, “I’ll keep an eye on Stevie. No, nothing will happen to us. Goodbye mother.” And with that the door was closed with a solid thump and the two of them were alone in the apartment for the first time that day.

Standing in the living room (the only room), Steve felt his lungs seize. His Bucky stood against there, his strong body a contrast against the old wood. Bucky's eyes were burning as they stared at Steve, a deep hunger growing in them before he prowled forward.

Steve was helpless to do anything but stand there and wait for Bucky to reach him. He could feel his body trembling, feel how desire began to turn his limbs heavy and his tongue thick. Steve could feel himself blushing when Bucky came to stop before him, towering over his frailer form. 

For long moments they just gazed at each other, breathing in time and unable to move. They both wanted to reach out, to touch, to taste, and take. But there was a final, invisible barrier between them that kept them from taking that final step. Something that kept them from becoming one being instead of remaining two. 

But today wasn’t that day, it wasn’t time yet. 

So instead of leaning in for a sweet kiss like he wanted, Bucky just gently reached out to take Steve’s wrist in his hand. His hand wrapped around bird thin bones, fingers resting on an uneven pulse that continued to beat reassuringly. “Come,” Bucky’s low voice crooned, “I’ll get you settled in your room.”

Steve smiled, shy and sweet, “Yes.” And so he followed, allowing Bucky to lead him by the wrist into a surprisingly warm bedroom where his bags had already been unpacked. Steve blushed shyly as Bucky settled him gently on the bed, eyes unable to raise from threadbare quilt to meet Bucky’s stunning eyes.

“I put your things away while you were helping Ma set up the kitchen,” Bucky whispered, kneeling down to be on eye level. “I did my best to make sure you would be comfortable in here. I saved up as much as I could to make repairs so the window wouldn’t rattle and the heat didn’t escape and the bed was as new as possible…”

“Buck,” Steve smiled, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to Bucky’s cheek, “It’s perfect and I love it. Don’t worry so much.”

Bucky blushed, suddenly looking very young and shy again. “Good,” he coughed, stumbling to his feet and heading awkwardly to the door, “I’m glad you’re comfortable. It’s...I’m just glad. Okay?”

“Okay Bucky,” Steve gazed shyly up through his lashes, “I’ll see you in the morning?”

Bucky whimpered, a small little sound before nodding frantically and sprinting out of the room leaving a bemused Steve alone in his new bedroom to start their new life together. 

The next morning, Steve stumbled out of his bedroom to already see Bucky up and eating a quick breakfast. Steve, mind still fuzzy from sleep, just blinked slowly at the sight of Bucky scarfing down his food, fully dressed at six in the morning.

“Bucky, why are you up,” Steve mumbled muzzily rubbing his eyes, “Too early for this.”

Bucky just grinned, putting his plate in the sink before wandering forward to press a fond kiss to Steve’s forehead. “I got work Stevie,” Bucky announced, chest puffed up in pride, “Gonna bring in a lot of money to take care of you like you deserve.”

Steve’s nose wrinkled at the thought. He didn’t need to be taken care of. He could take care of himself just fine, thank you very much. “Where are you going to be working Bucky?”

“Got a job down at the docks,” he grinned, pride twinkling in his eyes even as he headed to the door, “I’ll be back tonight to finish getting you moved in, so don’t work too hard. Alright doll?”

“Alright Bucky,” was the whispered response when the door closed, leaving Steve standing alone and cold in the apartment. He did keep himself busy that day, unpacking and buying groceries for their new home. That night he cooked dinner and welcomed an exhausted Bucky home with a warm meal and bright conversation. Bucky, though worn down from hard physical labor, just grinned at Steve’s enthusiasm before heading to bed. 

The next day the same thing happened, except this time instead of unpacking Steve fixed a crack on the wall. The next day he spent all day cooking for Bucky. And the day after that he cleaned the whole place. 

Before Steve knew it, a whole month had passed and he had fallen into a routine. 

Wake up. Make Bucky breakfast. Pass back out. East lunch. Clean and do chores. Get groceries, cook dinner, then sleep. Repeat.

It was domestic. It kept Steve safe inside and soothed Bucky’s worry. 

It was slowly killing Steve. If he didn’t break the routine he was going to scream or throw himself off the room. He had to find something to do, some job, some work so he didn’t go mad. 

The chance to escape his routine came in midsummer when Steve was out buying groceries. He was on his way to the butcher when a crow’s caw caught his attention away from the street and up to the heaven. There, circling, was a blue eyed crow staring purposefully down at Steve. 

He could feel the magic flare up at the sight. The need to move, to run, to follow, to hunt. And Steve’s body followed after the crow, rushing down back alleys towards the docks and the harder part of town. He stepped around the homeless, the mobsters, and the criminals without them noticing he was there. Distantly Steve knew his grandmother was hiding him from their view but for now he was too focused on following the crow. 

It eventually flew to a stop before settling on a small bar sitting near the water. Unlike the rest of the crumbling buildings around it, the bar was bright and shiny with a neat blue welcoming paint job that pulled Steve in. Even though the windows were boarded up, Steve found the front door unlocked as he stepped inside while the crow cawed victoriously outside. 

“Hello,” Steve called out, closing the bar door behind him. 

The bar itself was empty, the lights off and the chairs stacked on the tables. But behind the counter was a light in a back room while the smell of something rich and full of spice filled the air as Steve slowly walked further into the bar, the magic pushing him onwards. 

Stepping behind the counter, Steve nervously ran his hand over a Celtic knot carved into the wood. “Hello?”

This time, there was a response. A cry to wait had Steve pausing, pressed up against the counter as a young woman, just a few years older than Steve bustled out into the bar in a flurry of skirts and frizzy red hair. 

Sharp hazel eyes fixed on Steve while a thin lipped mouth pinched into a scowl. “How did you get in here?” She demanded, a thick Irish accent familiar to Steve’s ear. 

And that familiarity caused his own accent to re-emerge. “The door was open miss.”

“What? That’s impossible,” she rushed by, her cloud of hair smacking Steve in the face, “No one should be able to open that door!”

“I’m sorry?” 

“What are you sorry for?” She demanded, kneeling on the floor next to the door. Long fingers traced over intricate carvings “It isn’t your fault the door didn’t do its job. Strange though, the powers still in the markings…”

Oh. There must have been magic involved with the door. Magic Badb must have turned off for Steve to enter. “Ah...I think my grandmother went around it to get me in here?”

“Grandmother? Who's your grandmother? Do you have a mark?” The woman demanded getting up and rushing back to Steve’s side. He held up his wrist, showing her the marking there as an answer to the last question. Her eyes widened, reverent fingers tracing the green line. “Badb Catha…”

“My grandmother,” Steve shrugged helplessly at her searching look. 

The woman nodded, holding out her right wrist to show a glowing red circle with a rearing horse in the center. “I’ve got a melding grandmother as well,” she admitted, “Macha.”

Macha. Sister to Badb and Morrigan. Part of the Triple Goddess. Meaning this woman was Steve’s…

“Cousin,” they both whispered at the same time, magic and family blood singing brightly through them. Their faces may have looked different, but their wide grins were similar. 

“I’m Steve,” he breathed out, “Steve Rodgers.”

“I’m Saoirse O'Reilly,” her smile was manic, “And this is my bar.”

With his knew knowledge of her heritage, of how Saoirse came from a bloodline of witches and magic, Steve could see marking and amulets glowing with magic located around the barroom and feeding off of each other. Protection and comfort and safety glowed in the air making Steve smile. “It’s a beautiful bar.”

“Isn’t it just?” Saoirse beamed, clapping Steve on the back hard enough to make him stumble. He couldn’t even bring himself to mind, because the feel of magic and Saoirse’s companionship felt like kinship and family. (Like Mamí a small part of Steve whispered)

Which was how Steve added a new part to his routine. Wake up, make Bucky breakfast, head to the bar, hand out with Saoirse who taught him green and hedge magic Steve was able to use in his daily life. Spells to make breathing easier, to make food last longer, stuff like that. Things got a bit easier so Bucky was able to work less, to spend more time at home and with Steve. 

It was a sweet form of torture to be with Bucky. To have his heart so close but be unable to touch, to taste, to feel all that Bucky was and could be. Everything in Steve screamed for him to taste the sweat on Bucky’s skin, to rest under his bulk and let Bucky bring him to pleasure unlike anything Steve could imagine.

“I just want him to fuck me,” Steve admitted to Saoirse, slumped across her bar like a pathetic puddle. “Is that so much to ask?”

“Apparently it is,” Saoirse lifted him by the hair to wipe the bar under him before letting him drop back down, “Haven’t you been trying this for years now?”

“Since I was seven,” Steve whined. “Maybe he’s not interested? He does go on lots of dates with women…”

“Maybe you need to make him jealous,” Saoirse mused, “Remind him that you’re not just a housewife who waits on him hand and foot like you have been. That you’re the result of a legacy of warriors and goddesses and war runs through your blood.” A wicked grin crossed her face, “And I know just how to do it. After all, nothing makes a man hot blooded like competition.”

And by competition, she apparently meant having Steve work in her bar evenings. Now, five days out of the week Steve would make dinner, welcome Bucky home, and head off to pass out drinks and food to the bar patrons. Sure, he was spending less time with Bucky but the other man wasn’t jealous. 

Oh no, Bucky was pleased. He was so proud that Steve had found a steady job where he made decent money added to Bucky’s wages. “We can fix the cracks in the ceiling,” Bucky would gush on the way to church. “We can afford a new stove in two months,” Bucky would brag to his parents when they both went over once a week for family dinner. And through it all Steve smiled nice and pretty while fuming on the inside. Because Bucky wasn’t supposed to be proud, he was supposed to be jealous of Steve’s time and attention.

One night, when Steve was walking home after dark his grandmother came to walk besides him. It wasn’t common, nor was it uncommon for her to walk the mortal plane in the dark of night, but tonight she seemed to have something on her mind. And Steve would listen, for when she rarely spoken him outside of dreams it meant he had to listen. 

“Steven. What exactly do you want with Bucky-boy?” Badb asked.

And Steve stopped to actually think about it for once. To wonder beyond nameless want and lust what he wished for with Bucky. “I want him to love me like I love him,” Steve whispered, voice small.

“That’s impossible. Love is unique to each person, he can’t love like you do because he’s not you. But that’s not what I want to know,” Badb’s gaze was heavy, “Why are you making that boy jealous instead of just telling him you love him?”

“I...I don’t know,” Steve admitted, surprised that the thought of using his words had never occurred to him, “I want to tell him, I’ve tried multiple times, but each time my voice catches in my throat and if I keep trying my asthma kicks in. It’s strange but it’s almost like a…”

“Compulsion. There’s a compulsion making you do this,” Badb realized, understanding making her eyes glow, “Your Bucky has magic in his blood, ancient magic telling him he has to claim you to show his devotion.”

Steve frowned at that thought, “But I’m already his.”

“That’s the problem. He didn’t need to court you because of that so he needs to claim you from something,” Badb nodded decisively, “That’s where the you making him jealous comes from. But you’re not doing enough, it’s not strong enough to upset Bucky yet.”

“Then what should I do?”

Badb grinned, bright and reckless. “Did you know A Pheata, men will tip a pretty girl more than they would a pretty boy?”

It took Steve a minute, but when he got it he grinned bright and reckless bright at her. He had a plan, a way to Bucky jealous and end this awful longing. So the next day Steve started to prepare. In secret, he went out and bought a wig with his saving, some modest heels and a pretty necklace. He hid the pile under his bed, and gathered his courage before approaching his cousin. Two weeks after speaking with his grandmother, Steve walked up to Saoirse before his shift started and casually asked, “Do you have any dresses that would fit me?”

Saoirse looked up from her cleaning, confusion clouding her eyes, “You want what now?”

“A dress,” Steve shifted nervously at her look, “It’s...been mentioned that women make better tips than men?”

“And get this arses grabbed more, but yes,” her eyes narrowed, “You’re sure you want to do this? It could end very badly for you if it goes tits up.”

“I’m sure,” Steve admitted, “I...I need to do this. I feel it in my blood.”

“Right. Come over tomorrow afternoon and I’ll get you set up,” Saoirse huffed, “Not going to let my family end up arrested if I can help it.”

And with that, a weight Steve hadn’t known he’d been carrying lifted. He practically floated through his shift before drifting home on a cloud. Something deep inside him squirmed, curling in pleasure at the thought of wearing a colorful dress and looking soft and pretty for once. It brought a soft blush onto his normally pale cheeks, just enough color that by the time he got home it looked like a fever had hit. 

“Jesus Steve! You’re all flushed, don’t tell me you’re coming down with something,” came Bucky’s worried voice the second Steve stepped into the apartment. Steve barely had time to close the door before Bucky was on him, his strong muscled body pinning Steve against the door frame while he worriedly checked the blond for a temperature. 

Steve could feel his blush growing hotter at the feel of Bucky’s warmth, internally groaning knowing Buck would take it as illness instead of attraction. And sure enough, Bucky’s eyes filled with more terror as he gathered Steve close and started to lead the smaller boy to his room. 

“You shouldn’t be out in the cold so much,” Bucky fussed, “It’s not good for your lungs Stevie, you know this.”

“I had to help Saoirse at work. We had more dock workers coming in,” Steve complained looking away in frustrated embarrassment as Bucky tried to wrap him up in their blankets. (So Steve missed the possessive flash of gold at Bucky’s eyes at the mention of that woman’s name. Bucky hated that woman, hated how Steve adored her and was leaving Bucky behind to rush off to her side.)

“Besides. I can’t be sick,” Steve protested, “She’s helping me with something tomorrow.”

Bucky looked down, brows furrowing, “I could help you Stevie.”

Steve smiled, lovingly running a hand through Bucky’s hair. “I don’t want to bother you Buck. You do enough for me. Now get some rest. You have to get up early for you shift.”

So protesting the entire way, Bucky went to bed and Steve climbed under his sheets and trembled at the thought of what tomorrow would bring. He was jittery all through breakfast, too distracted to see how closely Bucky watched him. Later that day, Steve’s limbs trembled as he slowly walked into the bar, clinging tightly to the bag carrying his wig, shoes, and necklace.

But he didn’t have time to continue thinking once he stepped through the door. Saoirse came rushing up to him, dragging him up the rickety stairs into her bedroom where she practically threw him on the bed. She descended onto Steve with a cloud of perfume and makeup. 

Steve sat there weakly, head spinning as Saoirse explained how eyeliner, shadow, and lipstick worked. His eye practically crossed when she roughly tugged his wig on while lecturing on hiding hairlines and he turned red in mortification when she shoved lingerie into his hands.

“Um…” Steve whimpered, eyes darting everywhere except the white silk in his hands that would soon go on him.

Saoirse rolled her eyes. “You have to wear it so lines don’t show under your dress. Which is on the chair so get dressed and them come downstairs. I have a feeling that by the time you get down here customers will have showed up.” And then she was gone.

And Steve was alone, perfumes with golden curls for with silk in his hands. Hands that trembled as he put the silk down, that shook as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. A soft whimper left Steve as he pulled the slip on, carefully avoiding mussing up his wig, before settling it around his hips. It bunched strangely over his pants so Steve felt compelled to pull them and his shoes off and put them aside. Now, when he stood slowly the slip fell in a straight line down his body swirling around his legs as approached his new dress.

The pale green dress was an older one, the cuts straight and less flashy than the current style. It wouldn’t flare around curves that weren’t there, wouldn’t draw attention to anything except Steve’s lithe form, emphasizing the slight curve of his waist and down playing his lack of...assets. It was perfect, beautiful and wonderful and Steve actually felt attractive for the first time in his life when he put it on. He looked good, smiling and flushed enough to make it look like he’d applied blush. He looked happy, and it showed as he floated through his shift pulling in the tips.

For the next month he was able to wear his dress without anyone but Saoirse knowing it was him. Saoirse had introduced him as Sive, close enough to his real name that Steve was able to respond when the men called on him for more drinks as they pressed tips into his hands. He would come home beaming, greeting Bucky brightly and still unaware of the dark glare and seething jealousy growing in Bucky from something other than him making Steve smile. 

But lucky for them both, it did boil over in October before Bucky snapped. It was close to All Hallows’ Eve, the air starting to fill with more magic which bubbled in Steve like champagne. It left him giddy, more giggly at work and more willing to accept wandering hands and beer soaked kisses on his cheek with a desperate cheer. 

He was busy that night, throwing himself into his work because he hadn’t seen Bucky since that morning. His dear friend was going out drinking with his buddies form the docks, the same type of men who frequented the pub. Steve had heard those men talk of the pretty girls they took home to bed, and he just knew Bucky would do the same tonight. The thought of his Bucky tumbling some girl while keeping himself from Steve left the blond ready to cry. 

But he wouldn’t cry over some boy, his mother had taught him better. Much more productive to put your head down and work than mourn over what wasn’t yours, so Steve did. Which was why he gave the newest crowd of dock workers a quick glance before bustling to the kitchen and missed Bucky wandering inside to have a hot meal and a pint. 

Still, the new wave added extra bodies so Steve had to be extra careful picking his way over to deliver some beers to a neighboring table. He was so focused on watching his feet, that he didn’t see Bucky look up and notice him. He missed Bucky’s eyes widening in shock, stunned enough that he ended up sloshing most of his beer down his shirt while he watched Steve flit around the room.

“Dear god,” Bucky whispered, jealousy growing in his belly as he watched Steve smile and flirt with another man at the bar. What the hell was his boy doing? He was going to get himself killed. 

“See something you like Barnes?” Mike jeered, getting wild catcalls from the rest of the boys. His knowing eyes followed where Bucky was looking, latching onto the pretty girl (that was all Mike saw thanks to the spells Saoirse had stitched into the dress) smiling sweetly at some laughing men. “Oh,” Mike breathed, “You like the server there.”

Donald grinned. “Looks like it. Been tracking that pretty little thing’s moves since he sat down.”

Bucky didn’t, couldn't, take his off of Steve. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh I think we do. Barnes wants our pretty waitress over there to come pay him a visit,” Victor leered, his perverse eyes settling on the pert ass as the waitress bent over, “Pretty sure she’d make time with you in the alleyway.” With his leering, he wasn’t aware of how Bucky turned to fix him with a fierce glare, specks of gold appearing in his eyes. “Bet you Barnes will have a fun time with her. A doll that small has to be nice and tight…”

And with that, Bucky just snapped. All his jealousy, his protective need to keep Steve safe, all came crashing out with Victor’s crude statement. A furious roar, a dragon’s roar, left Bucky as he lunged forward slamming his fist into Victor’s face, sending the other man slamming into the ground. 

Terrified shrieks and surprised yells filled the bars. The few women pressed back against the walls, the men heading forward to see what the commotion was. The other men at Bucky’s table were on their feet screeching in shock like a bunch headless chickens but Bucky didn’t have time for them. 

All he was focused on was Steve, standing there in his pretty dress. With his gorgeous blue eyes wide in shock, trembling as he watched Bucky come storming towards him. Shaking in his heels, unable to move as Bucky grabbed him roughly by the arm, dragging Steve forcibly through the bar towards the back door. 

“Bucky,” Steve whispered, mortified by the looks they were getting from the other patrons.

“Shut up,” Bucky snarled sending Saoirse a dirty glare at where she was watching them with heavy lidded eyes. “Don’t you say another word right now or I will not be held accountable for my actions.” 

So Steve fell silent as Bucky dragged him out of the bar into the back alley. The only sound was his shoes against the stone pavement as Bucky dragged him away from any watching eyes and into the darkness. 

When the blackness was total, when they ventured where no lights would dare shine, then Bucky finally acted. 

Steve shrieked as he was swung into the wall. Bricks dug into his back as Bucky loomed over him. Furious golden eyes glared down at him as Bucky snarled. So furious, so full of rage he didn’t even notice how his grip on Steve’s shoulders was leaving dark bruises. 

“What. Are. You. Wearing.” Bucky ground out.

Steve sunk into himself. “I...Bucky please…”

“Answer me. What are you wearing,” Bucky gave Steve a hard shake, “What on God’s green earth possessed you to put on a dress and go prancing around in there!”

The ground looked far more interesting than meeting Bucky's eyes. “Girls make more…”

“I swear to god if you say girls make more tips I will hit you,” Bucky hissed. Snarling, he grit his teeth and leaned forward to press his forehead to the bricks, “Why are you really doing this!”

Steve couldn’t move. 

“Do you want this? To be a dame?” The rage was gone, leaving Bucky sounding exhausted and tired.

“I...sometimes,” Steve whimpered, “Sometimes I want to be me and everything makes sense. And other days I just want to put on my dress and be a pretty girl and they’re both real to me alright? I like being both!”

Bucky’s expression had crumpled with each word. The gold leached from his eyes by the time Steve was finished. “Steve…”

“This is me Bucky,” Steve managed to gasp out, “Both versions of me are real and I’m not getting rid of them and you can’t make me!”

“Steve,” Bucky’s forehead dropped down to rest against Steve’s softly, “You can get seriously hurt going around dressed as a dame. What if someone had found out? What if some jerk got handsy and found out you weren’t a girl, they’d be dragging you out into that back alley to try and teach you a lesson. They’d beat you to death Stevie and leave your corpse dumped somewhere.” A terrified sob managed to break free. “You’d be gone. They’d take you away from me and I wouldn't know you were gone until I found your broken body dumped in some gutter!”

A horrible silence hung between them when Buckh finished. An awful stretching type of silence where Bucky tired to keep from crying and Steve looked helplessly up at him. 

“Oh Bucky. That won’t happen,” Steve whispered reaching out to frame Bucky’s face with his hands, “I’m being careful Buck. I don’t take crazy risks and everyone knows better than to be handsy in Saoirse’s bar.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Bucky murmured, “It’s too easy for you to get hurt, for someone to take you away.”

“No one's going to take me away from you,” Steve promised, leaning forward to press himself against the strong lines of Bucky’s body, “I’m always going to be yours and nothing can change that.”

Bucky couldn’t help his fond smile, lovingly curling himself around Steve’s tiny body. “You know I’m going to keep worrying over you as long as you do this.”

“Then you’ll be worrying a while because it makes me happy.”

“Okay. Okay then. If this is what you need to be happy, I’ll make it happen. You’re all that matters.”

Steve stared helplessly back at him. “You’re too good for me Bucky Barnes. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” And then, feeling bold by the night, Steve rocked up onto his toes to press a sweet kiss to Bucky’s lips. 

Fire. Fire was coursing through Bucky’s body at the kiss. Burning through his veins, igniting his blood and making each nerve ending burn with delight. His darling Stevie, light of his life, was kissing him so gently. Just the soft press of beloved lips against his own had Bucky surging forward. He crowded Steve against the brick, pinning the smaller body with his own bulk as he turned the innocent press of lips into a heated kiss that left his toes curling. 

They pulled apart so Steve could breathe, then Bucky was lunging back in to taste Steve’s lips again. And again. And again while his hand slowly slid up Steve’s skirt to press against the pert curve of Steve’s ass which filter perfectly in his palm. 

It was only when Steve’s lungs started to seize that Bucky pulled away. But oh, the sight was worth it. To see Steve all rumpled, lips swollen from his kisses and skirt rucked up around Bucky’s arm, was the sweetest sight he’d ever seen. Desire pooled in his gut leaving Bucky to groan helplessly at the decadent sight before him.

“So gorgeous,” he breathed out, pressing another kiss to Steve’s brow, “Pretty as a picture and all mine.” His chest rumbled with a possessive growl. “Going to take you home doll. Spread you out on my bed and love you like you deserve.”

“Yes,” Steve gasped, head swimming from the pleasure Bucky gifted him with. Trembling, he wound his arms around Bucky’s weight, trusting the other to take his weight, “Please Buck. I’ve wanted you since I knew what wanting was. Don’t make me wait anymore.”

“I won’t.” He drew Steve into his arms, careful to make sure that his pretty doll’s skirt covered his modesty. Only Bucky was allowed to see under there. No wandering eyes would be allowed to peak at his boy. Bucky pressed a smacking kiss to Steve’s cheek, heading home with his precious bundle curled up trustingly against his chest. “I’ll take good care of you Stevie. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

(High above them, a blue eyed crow watched the pair rush home fondly. Her darling boys had finally found their way to each other. She would have to swing by to offer her congratulations soon, but first there was a certain grandfather she had to inform of these events so he could bring his own blessing to their sweet boys.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all the stories I was told growing up, witches were catalysts. They were either mentors, or messed things up to get the story going. That’s Saoirse, she’s my archetype for witches. She will be Steve’s mentor, and Bucky’s personal enemy so she had both roles which is why I created her.
> 
> Plus, I honestly can’t believe Steve had zero family left. Coming from an Irish family, there are a lot of us. So I imagine it’s the same for Steve’s family, where there are cousins waiting in the wings. Saoirse is a magical cousin, but still family.
> 
> And the boys are officially together now! They’re going to get into so much trouble in that apartment with no supervision, haha.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to post this a while ago, but then life exploded. I had to supervise a school event, and one of my students ended up with a broken nose about halfway through. So we had to deal with that along with moping up blood from the floor. The joys of teaching children really. When there’s not blood, there’s vomit.
> 
> But I got the story posted, so please enjoy it. I’m going to go pass out now for the next 24 hours to recover...

High among the snow capped mountains of Romania, a woman dressed in black walked above the snow. Her veil hung straight, not even fluttering in the breeze as she approached a rocky outcropping where a stately figure stood. 

He was handsome as ever. Long dark hair tied back while he gazed down at the remains of a once great kingdom. Even though he worse the clothes of the modern era, he still shone with an inner grace from a time where kings and queens were common. He was a good friend of hers, one she had been fond of for quite some time. 

“Vlad,” she murmured softly. 

The man turned, grinning at him with the same eyes as a bold boy refusing to give up his friend. “Morrigan,” Vlad’s booming voice filled the air as she came to stand beside him, “What brings you to my kingdom? You don’t often wander so far.”

Morrigan just hummed softly, staring down at the tiny people below. “My nephew has come into his own.”

“Nephew? I thought only women could carry out your sister’s legacy?”

“That’s what we all thought as well, but Steven Rogers exists and carries her magic inside him,” Morrigan shrugged helplessly. “It’s been the strongest expression of magic I’ve seen since the fall of the Roman Empire. He physically can’t turn away from the draw to battle and it’s a miracle he’s lasted this long. I’ve been called to his side many times.”

Vlad huffed at that. “While frustrating, I don’t see why it would draw you to visit my dear.”

“I came to visit you because one of your has decided to claim my darling nephew for his own.” Even though no one could see her face, Vlad just knew the Morrigan was giving him an unamused look. 

One that he did not deserve. “That isn’t possible. My descendants are still here, safe and protected in their ancestral lands.”

“Most are. Except your granddaughter,” her head tilted in coy remembrance, “The granddaughter who asked for your blessing to follow the boy she loved to the new world?”

“Winifred? But her love is that boy, not one of your sister’s line.”

“Her, no. But her son. Now he is the one in trouble.”

Vlad stared back incredulously. “My great grandson is attempting to court your sister’s grandson?”

“They’ve moved past courting, I’m pretty sure they’ll be claiming each other by the need of the year.”

A low curse left Vlad at that. He knew what would happen if one of his line continued his pursuit. Their bloodline did not manifest when one of his kin claimed a mortal. No, the magic and bloodlust laid dormant. But when one pursued a being of magic, like Badb Catha’s descendant, then their bloodline would come to life. “That boy doesn’t know what he’s doing, does he?”

“Of course not, he’s removed from his birth land in a new world that doesn’t believe in magic,” Morrigan reached out to gently touch his shoulder, “There is still time for you to meet with him and teach him to control his magic.”

“It isn’t like you to offer to help the living, my dear. Even when they are my kin.”

“You’re great grandson impressed me a while ago.” A smile curled up under her veil as she remembered the boy spitting at her while holding Steven close, “He loves my nephew very much, and I would like them to be happy.” Just once she would like one of Badb’s children to be happy in their life. 

“I see,” Vlad gave her a knowing look. He had always believed her to be softer than she truly was. “I will visit them then and make sure that my kin knows to control himself.”

“That is all I ask.” She inclined her head before turning to leave. Hopefully this would smooth things over between the two boys she was far too invested in. 

Because really, no one wanted to deal with a possessive dragon defending his mate. It was just too much trouble. Especially in a place as crowded as Brooklyn. 

An ocean away, tucked into a run down apartment that wasn’t fit for their ancient heritage, the two boys in question slowly came back to awareness after a late night. They were wrapped together, tucked safely under thin sheets in an effort to conserve warmth in the cool nights. 

Bucky was the one who came back to the realm of the waking first. With easy grace, he stretched slowly while pulling Steve’s body close. It felt so natural to tuck his face into Steve’s neck and kiss sleep warm skin. The taste of sweat and the underlying musk that was Steve’s natural scent just drove him wild. He was content to just kiss when he could lick and suck as well, could allow the lazy curl of desire to grow.

The slow trickle of desire grew to a flood when Steve let out s sweet moan, his small body trembling under Bucky’s onslaught against his neck. Caught between dreams and waking, he squirmed helplessly in Bucky’s warm arms. Bare skin slid over skin, and with a slight flex of his arm Bucky was able to send Steve sprawling across his chest so they could trade lazy kisses while rubbing against each other. 

It would have been perfect if it was a weekend. When they would have all day, allowing themselves to indulge in the other’s flesh and desire and love. But it wasn’t the weekend yet, and they would have to rejoin the world in a few hours. 

“Buck...you have work,” Steve gasped out. 

Bucky’s low chuckle was dark, a promise of sex and heat and all the things that made Steve dizzy with desire. “Don’t worry doll,” Bucky promised, voice rough even as he rolled his hips up against Steve’s, “Got plenty of time to take care of you before work.”

“But you won’t have time to eat!” And oh, Steve hated himself right then. Despised that he was willing to tear himself away from Bucky (where he belonged) to fuss over breakfast. Except he knew how hard Bucky had to work at the docks, saw the bowed shoulders and trembling muscles and feared if his Buck wasn’t well fed he’d stumble and Steve would lose him. So Steve pulled away, letting himself roll to the side so he was still pressed against Bucky’s skin but far enough away from their easy pleasure that he’d be able to slip out of bed if Bucky reached for him again.

Bucky growled, annoyance clear in his eyes as glared up at the ceiling. “Tell me you did not stop morning sex to make me eat breakfast.”

Steve scoffed, pressing a quick chaste kiss to Bucky’s tan shoulder. “You know you need to eat Buck.”

“I could just eat you,” was the petulant reply, “You’re the best breakfast I’d ever have Stevie.”

“I know. But Buck, I need you to be nice and strong when you’re working,” Steve slid off the bed, reaching out to a rickety chair to grab his thin robe and pull it around himself. “I’ve seen the dock workers at the bar after their shifts. Hell, I see you after your shifts!” Angrily he tied the robe shut, furiously staring away from the bed and Bucky’s soft eyes, “Just one slip, one mistake, and you could die! And I’d have to live without you…”

“Hey, no. None of that,” Bucky whispered, out of bed and pulling Steve into his arms. Adoringly he tuck the fair head under his chin, rubbing soothing circles into Steve’s crooked back. “I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know I was worrying you so much.” Bucky pulled back enough to pull Steve into a toe curling kiss before stepping back, a gentle hand carding through sweat mussed golden hair. “I’ll have breakfast today and everyday if that helps you. Alright?”

Steve sent him a shaky smile, turning to head into the kitchen. “I know it sounds silly, but I can’t be there with you on the docks and this is how I can look after you.” 

Bucky hummed, following on silent feet to lean against the doorframe and watch Steve start preparing a quick breakfast. “You do plenty to look after me,” Bucky murmured eyes fond as he watched Steve prepare water to boil for tea and start throwing last night's leftovers in a pan to start a quick coddle recipe. 

“I can always do more,” Steve muttered before turning to fix Bucky with an unamused glare, “And go put some clothing on!”

“Why?” Bucky leered, unconcerned with having his whole body on display for his little love, “You love looking at me Stevie.”

“I do, but the neighbors might complain if they look in through the window and get a glance at you prancing around,” Steve huffed out, “Now go get dressed for the day! By the time you’re done breakfast will be ready.”

But Bucky really didn’t want to. He didn’t want to move, to take his eyes off of Steve’s beautiful body. His boy was gorgeous, with his sex messed hair and pale robe sliding down one slender shoulder as he fussed over their stove. Steve Rogers was the only thing Bucky wanted in this life. He would do anything for that sunshine smile and lovely voice.

Even turn away from that gorgeous sight to go get dressed and ready for the day. 

Still, Bucky mused as he pulled on his clothes, Steve knew him well enough to time breakfast perfectly and that brought a small ball of warmth to his chest. Because by the time he finished brushing his teeth and washing his face in the small wash bowl in their room, when his hair was perfectly styled and he deemed that he didn’t need to waste time on shaving, a warm breakfast was prepared and sitting pretty as a picture on their table.

“Looks good,” Bucky murmured pressing a kiss to Steve’s cheek as he slid into his seat. “But it’s missing something Stevie doll.”

Steve rolled his eyes, exasperated fondness clear on his face. “We’re not bringing coffee to the breakfast table Buck.” Was the gentle chastisement, the continuation of a well worn argument.

One Bucky knew he would never win but he refused to stop trying. “I’m just saying, coffee is superior to tea. I’d be better prepared to face the day if I had some.”

Steve’s pleasant smile was a dangerous threat. “If you put coffee on my table, you’ll be sleeping alone in the other bedroom until you apologize.” 

Knowing when he was beat, Bucky simply reached out to start eating. He made sure to keep his eyes down, knowing if he saw Steve’s smug look the argument would continue until Bucky was soundly defeated and sent away to the empty other room. Discretion being the better part of valor and all that nonsense.

“What time does your shift at the bar start?” Bucky asked when it was safe for them to start talking again. 

Steve sent his an exasperated look, “I don’t need an escort to and from work Buck.”

“I know you don’t, but I feel better knowing you’re safe. Especially when you go walking nice and pretty in that dress of your’s,” Steve’s hand was cool under his own, “So for my piece of mind, what time do I need to get back here to walk you to the She-demon’s bar?”

Steve huffed in annoyance but didn’t reclaim his hand. “You know I hate it when you snipe at Saoirse. And I’m taking the night off.”

“You’re taking the night off? Are you sick or something?”

“No. We’re having dinner with your family because you’re great grandfather is visiting from Romania and wants to see us all,” meal done, Steve started to gather up the plates to take them to the sink for the wash.

Bucky followed behind, frowning faintly even as Steve started the water to clean the plates. “I thought he was coming next month?”

“Nope. He’s here now and we’re visiting,” Steve shrugged helplessly, “Your mother even hunted me down after church last week to make sure we would be coming by tonight.”

“Well, if my mother is coming after you, then we’ll show up so she doesn’t kill us horribly,” Bucky murmured leaning forward to press a smacking kiss to Steve’s cheek before heading to the door, “I’ll see you after work then doll.”

“Stay safe!” Was Steve’s faint cry through the closed door, echoing through the landing as Bucky rushed off to work as quickly as he could, the sweet sentiment bringing a smile to his face. 

The smile slowly faded away though as Bucky got to work with the other men in the shipping yard. Normally he would be able to keep his spirits up with thoughts of Steve (soft and warm in their bed, waiting for Bucky with that pretty blush, his usual thoughts to get through the day) but it just wasn’t working today. 

Not when his great grandfather was here for some reason. It was bizarre, a mystery all of the Barnes children had muttered about several times in the past month. No one from their mother’s side of the family ever came to visit. They’d never met their grandparents, their aunts or uncles, or even knew if they had cousins. But some reason the patriarch of the family had come across an entire ocean to meet them for the first time so Bucky felt certain that he was right to be suspicious. 

Eventually his shift ended, sending Bucky home to collect Steve for dinner. A few times Bucky had been foolish enough to let Steve walk alone, and each time had ended with Steve following the blasted crows back into battle against some jerk in a back alley. No way was Bucky letting that happen tonight. 

Steve seemed happy enough with the situation, leaning happily into the arm Bucky wrapped around his thin shoulders. “Is bad that I already want this dinner to be over,” Steve murmured, voice soft because he was well aware of the type of fit Bucky would have if he admitted outside their apartment that he just wanted Bucky to take him to bed. 

“No, makes sense,” Bucky rumbled, suspicions continuing to grow worse as he saw the brightly lit apartment. “Just make sure to watch yourself Stevie. He may be family, but he doesn’t know what you are.”

“What,” Steve teased as they approached the door, “That I’m magic?”

“That you’re mine.”

Steve blushed at the admission, a small pleased smile on his face as Winifred threw open the door and dragged both boys into the warm apartment. It only took seconds for the Barnes family to separate the boy’s, dragging them to familiar hugs with tears of practice. Steve was quickly drawn in by the girls, forced to settle on the couch between Becca, Gracie, and Abigail as the girls began chattering to him about their classes and begging him for quick doodles they could show off proudly to their friends,p.

Usually Bucky was drawn into conversation with his father, but not tonight. Tonight, his mother grabbed him by the arm and forced him into the kitchen.

“Where’s dad,” Bucky asked softly, leaning against the counter. 

“He was showing your great-grandfather the sights. They’ll be back soon,” Winifred muttered while slicing up a fresh loaf of bread to serve at dinner. “Now James, you’re great-grandfather is going to want to talk to you tonight after dinner.”

Of course he did. That wasn’t much of a surprise to Bucky. “I won’t be able to stay long Ma. Steve and I both have work tomorrow…”

“You will stay as long as it takes to have this conversation,” Winifred snapped, slamming the knife down against counter as she fixed her son with a glare, “He’s come all this way to help you, and you will listen to his advice and be thankful for it. Honestly, I think he should have come years earlier to warn you so you didn’t drag yourself into trouble without knowing exactly what you were getting into!”

“Ma, what are you even talking about?”

“I’m talking about you and Steve living together like a married couple in that death trap apartment of yours,” Winifred huffed, rolling her eyes at the stunned look her son gave her, “Oh please. I’ve known exactly what you’ve been getting up to here, but haven’t said a word since you’ve been working hard to be discrete.”

“Who...who else knows?” Bucky managed to get out. Panic was clawing at his chest, the terrified realization that people knew what he and Steve were doing, that the wrong word mentioned to the wrong people would bring the police down on them. Or even worse, a mob that would drag Steve kicking and screaming from the apartment before beating him to death in the street while Bucky was helpless to do anything but watch…

“James.” Winifred’s exasperated voice brought him back to reality. “Everyone in this apartment knows what you’re up too. Neither of you are exactly subtle when you gaze soulfully into each other's eyes every chance you get.”

“Still, it isn't safe for people to know,” he hissed back, eyes nervously darting around to take in the apartment, “Least of all some stranger coming in to meet us for the first time!”

Winifred though, used to her son’s dramatics, just rolled her eyes even as she pushed the plates into his hands and demanded that he set the table for dinner. Which of course he did, grumbling the entire time as he laid out the plates and forks while Winifred put plate after plate of food on the table.

It was just as Bucky settled down the last of the knives that the front door to the apartment came swinging open, heralding the arrival of George Barnes back to his family. A delighted chorus of welcomes came flowing from the girls, recovering cheerful greetings from the only unfamiliar voice in the entire apartment. 

His great-grandfather apparently.

Bucky would have been quite content to stay in the kitchen, but one look at his mother’s glare sent him slinking out to join the family in the living room.

“Well now,” the stranger’s voice boomed, too grand for the apartment walls, “I’m guessing that you’re not James?”

“No sir,” Steve’s amused response was the only thing that kept Bucky from snarling at the stranger that had approached his boy and was seated next to him on the couch, “What gave it away? Being the only blonde in the room?”

“No, no. Nothing so silly.” The man, Bucky’s relative, grinned. “It's the nose really.”

Steve’s rather prominent nose wrinkled at that. “My nose?”

“Oh yes. Only one family I know has that particular combination of nose and chin,” it was a rather grandfatherly move on the man’s part to reach out and pat Steve’s hand, except Bucky could see his fingers tapping against the green circle on Steve’s wrist, “Clan Catha through and through this one.”

And that was enough of that. The second these people started talking about Steve’s magic, Bucky knew he had to step in and turned the attention elsewhere. So it was easy to muster a smile and step forward, arms outstretched to embrace his great-grandfather. “Grandfather,” Bucky said warmly, a facade he'd perfected over the years. “I hope you had a good trip over?”

“Ah James, good to see you boy. And yes, the trip was quite good. Very informative,” his grandfather grinned, rising to his feet easily even though his hair was silver and his joints should ache, as he pulled Bucky into a tight hug, “Now, I hear you have been doing well working at the docks?”

“Yes sir I am. It’s good steady work,” Bucky’s smile fixed at his mother’s scoff, her constant derision that he hadn’t chosen to go to university constantly chafing at him. It was only Steve’s quick smile and eye roll that reminded him of where he was and what he was doing. 

“Good, good. Dock work will build your muscles, make you nice and strong,” his grandfather praised, settling down to dinner with an easy grin, “Now, if you were back in the old country, I would push for you to join the military!”

“Grandfather,” Winifred hissed, displeasure clear on her face.

“What? What did I say? It is just a fact,” grandfather waved a dismissive hand, eyes lighting on all of his great-grandchildren, “My line is descended from warriors, some of the greatest warriors this world has ever seen. That spirit flow through all of my kin, and I have no doubt that all of my descendants carry that same fighting spirit in their blood!”

“Even the girls?” Becca drawled, voice dry.

“Especially the girls,” grandfather threw his head back and laughed, “Why, out of all my grandchildren, your mother was the most vicious. She could take down her cousins in a matter of seconds. Grown men, lying on the ground crying in pain after she finished with them. An absolute hellion our Winifred is!”

“They don’t need to know about that,” Winifred, face red from embarrassment. 

“Oh no,” Steve’s voice added to the mix, gleeful to hear the details of how much trouble Winifred had gotten into as a young girl, especially when she had spent so much of his childhood chastising him for being reckless, “We’d love to hear about that.”

And it was clear from his grandfather’s delight that he heartily enjoyed mortifying his granddaughter. He told all sorts of wild stories about her, how she often went running wild through the mountains with her cousin, the mischief she would cause in town, the perilous courting of one George Barnes when he realized his intended had a sizable family behind her. It all led to laughter and smiles and a pleasant meal. 

“He’s not what I expected,” Steve murmured that evening when they returned to their apartment. 

“I wasn’t aware you were expecting anything from him,” Bucky grumbled, quite cross to be seated on the bed while Steve continued to fuss about their apartment, “Everytime we talked about it, you were carefully neutral in your answers about what you thought.”

“I expected someone older,” Steve admitted, “Or at least someone who acts older. Really, are you sure he’s your great-grandfather?”

“Never met the guy, but Ma swears it's him,” Bucky shrugged. “Why?”

“He looks far too young, and has more energy than most people our age. Not typical signs of an old man.”

“Maybe he married really young?”

“Like what? Age ten or something? No way he married someone that young,” Steve huffed out a breath, sinking onto the bed, careful not to aggravate his spine, “Ignore me. I'm starting to grasp at nothing.”

Bucky reached out, drawing the small frame onto his own on their narrow bed. “It’s not nothing, it's never nothing if it bothers you.”

“That’s sweet but ridiculous and untrue. There’s plenty I’m bothered by that’s really nothing,” he pushed a strand of Bucky‘s hair from his eyes, blue eyes shining in the light, “It’s just…he feels like grandmother does.” A pensive frown was present even as Steve tucked his face into Bucky’s shoulder, “He feels like he’s more.”

“More than what?”

“Mortality.”

The next day, Bucky couldn’t get Steve’s whispered confession from his mind. It lingered in the back of the mind, ticking at him every time he went home to visit his parents and his grandfather was there. The thoughts clogged his throat when Steve was present for dinner, pricking at the back of his tongue to come seeping back up. Especially because Bucky had not forgotten that first night. How his mother had mentioned great-grandfather wanting to have a conversation still ringing in the back of his mind, but far enough away Bucky tried hard not to think of it much. 

But it sat in the air, a heavy thing that would one day break under the strain. 

And sure enough, two weeks into great-grandfather’s stay, the silence shattered. 

It happened during an evening, a seemingly normal one right after Bucky got off work. He waved goodbye to the boys, promising to see them tomorrow and get drinks on Friday night. His bed was calling him, a temptress asking him to rest his head on soft pillows and just sleep. But he couldn’t sleep yet. No, he had to head over to the bar and pick Steve up, escort his boy back home safely so he wouldn’t get in a scrape this week because he’d caught a nasty cough that rattled his frame.

So Bucky had a plan. Knowing Steve would be wearing his pretty dress, he would be able to drape his jacket over the thin frame to provide an extra level of warmth that he couldn’t the few time Steve dressed in his slacks at work. Already, Bucky could just imagine how great it would feel to have Steve’s body pressed up against him, to feel soft fabric against the hard planes and soft curves of his boy’s body. 

Or that was the plan. Instead of such a wonderful reception, of sweet kisses and gentle smiles, Bucky was met with the devil in human form at the door. 

When Bucky stepped through the doorway, he immediately started to scan the bar for Steve. It was a well groomed habit, one that was impossible for him to break. Or at least that would be Bucky’s excuse as to why he didn’t see Saoirse heading straight towards him with murder on her face. 

He did notice though when her long fingers nail dug deep into his arm, yanking him away from the sure to be lovely image of Steve in his pretty dress. “What the hell woman?” Bucky spat, trying to squirm free but somehow unable to escape her grip, “What do you want? Is something wrong with Stevie?” Please, please don’t let something be wrong with Stevie. 

Saoirse just huffed in annoyance at him, eyes still dark and flashing. “No, my waitresses is fine. You know, Sive,” she stressed the name, warning clear in her voice, “The problem I have is one you brought to my bar Barnes. And I’m not having any trouble here because of you!”

“What the hell are you on about woman?”

“I’m on about that!” Saoirse dug her nails into Bucky’s cheek, forcibly turning his protesting fat head to the side so he could finally see Steve. Steve, in his pretty dress and wig as he chatted quietly with Bucky’s great grandfather who was nursing a pint. The same great grandfather who was clearly flattering Steve ridiculously judging by the slight flush on pale cheeks. 

Bucky just stared. Great grandfather was supposed to be at home with the rest of the family, not chatting up Bucky’s boy. “What the hell…”

“I want him gone,” Saoirse snarled. 

“What? Why, because he’s related to me?” Bucky turned back to glare at the devil woman, “I know you don’t like me, but that’s a bit extreme!”

“It has nothing to do with who you are, and everything to do with who he is,” Saoirse hissed, her eyes refusing to move, “Death clings to that man Barnes. It follows in his step, slings to his coat, and finds everything he touches. So excuse me if I don’t want him anywhere near my cousin!”

“I’ll get him out,” Bucky promised lowly, not wanting the crazy woman to start something, “Do you know what he is?”

“A bean sidhe but not,” Saoirse grumbled. Bucky shot her a look, having no clue what she was saying which led to an annoyed huff before she grumbled, “Banshee. Death bringer. But feels off. Go fix it Barnes.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, safe now that he’d moved away from her direct line of vision and any pinches she could dish out. He moved quickly through the thrum of the crowd, long practiced ease having him slide around the laughing and chatting drinkers until he slid smoothly into Steve’s space. A quick tug to a tiny waist allowed Bucky to plant an adoring kiss to the wigged head. Which of course led to Steve beaming up at him sweetly, so of course Bucky had to press a gentle kiss to the corner of a lipstick stained smile. 

“Hey doll, can you go fetch me whatever is on tap?” Bucky asked kindly, gently sending Steve to the bar. “A pint for me and grandfather here?”

“Sure Buck, I’ll be right back,” Steve smiled shyly back at grandfather, “It was good to see you again sir.”

“Bah, What had I told you about the sir? You are just as much my grandson as Bucky here, call me grandfather,” a charming smile, one Bucky had seen in the mirror on his own face, was grandfather's response which had Steve smiling a bit more surely as he left. 

Grandfather chuckled, sure grin now directed at Bucky as he slid into the open seat. “I must say great-grandson mine, you have excellent taste. Your chosen does clean up rather well.”

Bucky tried to smile at that, but knew it looked more like a pained grimace, “Look, about what you just saw…”

“I saw nothing that would get you in trouble, my boy. Nothing at all,” grandfather looked far too knowing as he gazed at Bucky. He was clearly searching for something, but god knew what. Eventually though, he let out a sigh before settling back into his seat. “You know I am magic, yes?”

“I was suspicious but Steve figured it out,” Bucky admitted, “He could feel you were different.”

“Of course he could. Just like I could feel he was magic, and just like I felt magic in this bar. That’s why I came here you know,” grandfather shrugged, “The magic here feels like the old country, which drew me in. Everything else magical here feels different, younger and new. But this is steeped in Irish tradition which isn’t a surprise when I see who's here.” Grandfather smirked, eyes locked on the bar behind Bucky.

There was a clear challenge in the old man’s eyes, a dare for Bucky to look. And maybe it was his time with Steve, but Bucky found himself turning and staring at Steve and Saoirse talking softly together while pouring drinks. “The grandchildren of Macha and Badb. Together in the new world running a bar,” grandfather chuckled softly, “We just need Morrigan here and the full trinity will be present.”

“How do you know about that. About all of this,” Bucky asked lowly, “What are you?”

“Ah, I am very old is what I am. You know your mother is Romanian? That our family comes from there?” At Bucky’s nod grandfather settled back into his seat, eyes softening as he finally began to explain why he had crossed the seas to reach the shores of New York. “I lived my whole life in what we now call Romania. It has always been my home, and I loved it dearly. as a boy I knew I would one day build a home, a family there and I was happy. Until the invaders came and tore me away from it. That was when something awoke in me.”

Grandfather leaned forward, eyes dark and serious. “I was just a boy when they killed my brother. Something deep inside snapped free, screamed into life and saved me from the same fate. Something caused by my brother’s death and I became...more. Stronger, smarter, faster.” A sad frown slowly appeared. “And sometimes even curler than I could ever believe. A deep possessiveness had awakened in me, and any who threatened my family and home would die slow and painful deaths. Which is how I came to be known as the Impaler to those Ottoman dogs.” 

There was only one Romanian impaler Bucky had ever heard about. “You mean to tell me,” Bucky drawled, incredulous at the whole premise, “That you’re Dracula?”

“Vlad of the House Dracul, yes,” grandfather grinned.

Bucky just stared. “You’re a vampire.”

“What? No, no grandson I am not one of those,” grandfather snorted waving that away like morning mist, “I am Dracul, one born from dragon’s blood. I am dragon grandson, one of the last.”

“A dragon.”

“It was more common back then for mortal and magic to have a child. And it passes in a family. Often times the magic lies dormant, until something wakes it up. For me, it was almost certain death,” grandfather leaned in close, “For you, Bucky, it was falling in love with someone born from magic. That’s what has drawn your magic out and into the world.”

Bucky huffed, “I don’t have magic.” It was ridiculous, he would have noticed if he was like Steve. He wasn’t drawn on to impossible things or held special powers. He simply...was.

“Grandson, when I first smile at your Steve you growled and nearly breathed fire. You have magic,” grandfather teased reaching out to flick Bucky’s nose, “Now, it isn’t as strong as mine, or even Steve’s, so you don’t turn into a full dragon. But you do have all of the instincts of one.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“So you don’t want to hoard Steve all to yourself in the lair, ahem I mean the apartment, you created for him.” Bucky flushed at that, ducking his head in embarrassment. Grandfather snorted, “So I am right. You have Dracul blood singing in your veins.”

Bucky hummed, settling in. However, a terrifying thought had him leaning forward with wide eyes. “You think Steve did this, that him being magic brought it out. So will this happen to my sisters?” Bucky demanded, “Are they going to turn into dragons too? Am I going to have to live with those three being able to breathe fire and all that!”

Grandfather just snorted at the question, shaking his head fondly. “No my boy, you will survive. They will just be regular girls.”

“But why? Why am I a dragon but not them? Not that I want them to become dragons.”

“Only the men gain these powers in our family,”grandfather shrugged at that, “Before you ask, no. I don’t know why. Perhaps it is because the universe trembled in fear at the thought of giving a woman of my line dragon blood but it means your sisters will be mortal. But not every magic line is like that. Sometimes it goes to both genders. Sometimes to just one.” Grandfather nodded over to a different table where Steve was delivering drinks, “The Catha with magic are women. Oh, the men will still fight things, but they aren’t like Steve with the unyielding drive to fight. That’s all been kept for the women. Until Steve.”

“But why Steve?”

“Who knows? Magic is funny like that. Maybe Badb did something but Steve still has the magic running through his veins. Which brings me to the next thing,” grandfather paused, clearly trying to think of how to phrase whatever was coming next. Bucky just settled in to wait, patience winning out to understand this whole mess. “Magic runs through blood, as I mentioned. And your blood is too diluted to let you become a full dragon, it just gives you the instincts.”

Bucky frowned, “Diluted?”

“Your father. Now, there’s nothing wrong with him! He’s a good man and the only one worthy of my favorite granddaughter,” grandfather quickly at Bucky’s furious glare, “But there is absolutely no magic in his family. Which should be impossible, but he managed. So that means, since your mother cannot inherit my magic, you a three fourth human and one fourth dragon. Or as close as I can figure.”

“Which means instincts but no dragon transformation,” Bucky summarized softly. 

“As far as I can tell. But who knows,” grandfather snorted, “You married the only man to have Catha blood, that exposure to magic could make you something else. Something new.”

Which was concerning, and Bucky would panic about that later. But for now… “I’m not married to Steve!”

Grandfather rolled his eyes, exasperation clear. “Did you make vows of love to him?”

“Well...yeah.” It was Steve, Bucky promised his love and devotion every day. 

“Did he reciprocate?”

“Yes…”

“Did you follow that with sex?”

“Grandfather!” Bucky hissed, face red from mortification. “You can’t just ask that!”

“Well, if you two did have sex after promising each other love and devotion, congratulations. You married in the eyes of magic,” grandfather turned away from the still blushing boy to smile at Steve as he dropped off their drinks, “That took a while, dear? Something happen?”

“No sir...grandfather,” Steve quickly corrected himself at the glare, “Just wanted to give you two time to talk without interrupting. Looked like things had wrapped up. And...oh Buck. You're all red!” Steve settled the drinks down to press the back of his hand to Bucky’s forehead. “Are you feeling alright? Are you coming down with a fever?”

“No no, he’s just being embarrassed by his grandfather,” was the gleeful response that spurned Bucky back to reality.

A reality where he quickly grabbed Steve’s hand and cling tightly. “Doll, we’re married!” Bucky’s wild eyes dragged over Steve’s face, “Did you know?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Well, I do now. Would have appreciated a proposal James Barnes but I still love you, silly man. What’s the problem?”

“I didn’t tell my Ma. Doll, how do I tell her I married you?” Bucky’s wild expression got even more desperate, “Shit, when did we even get married!”

Steve just shrugged, “Probably the first time you caught me here in a dress. Look Buck, I’ve got to go back to work alright? I’ll see you around.” He pressed a quick kiss to Bucky cheek before scampering away, the crack of his heels quickly lost in the noise of the bar. 

Bucky, still shell shocked by the whole thing, turned back to grandfather with wide eyes. “What the even...how am I supooded to live with this?” With magic, and dragons, and myths all real?

“Easily,” grandfather's collected voice cut through the panic and drew Bucky back to now, “You will get through it because I will teach you all you need to know. Everything will be fine.”

And for some reason, Bucky actually believed him. Believed that everything would be alright, that things would make sense once more and he’d be able to return to his life. Or as close as he could. 

For the next month, grandfather spent his evenings in Bucky’s apartment. Sometimes Steve would be there and he’d sit in the lessons. Other times it would just be Bucky and his grandfather going over the instincts that had slowly been creeping up on Bucky’s life. 

Like the fact that Bucky was territorial. Oh, he’d always been possessive of Steve but his magical awakening made it worse. Before Bucky had been able to tolerate others touching Steve’s shoulders without worrying. Now, anytime someone brushed against Steve he wanted to rip their arms off. Grandfather had helped with that, brushing against Steve or holding Steve’s hand until Bucky stopped trying to kill him and accepted that people would touch his Steve. Even if Bucky didn’t approve. 

He also learned that his senses were better than before. Not superhuman strong, but noticeable. Just enough that Bucky could now recognize the scents of his family in a crowd. Or taste what Ma was cooking for dinner in the air. A slight amplification, grandfather had explained, enough to appear human while…not. 

And speaking of amplifications, his strength had increased as well. That had been a shock. Now, Bucky had been strong from working the docks for years but nothing like this. He could now scoop Steve off the ground easily with one hand and without strain. The heavy bags unloaded on the docks? No problem! Bucky could lift them with just enough ease that his back stopped hurting but didn’t get him strange looks. 

But the wildest night had been when Bucky was settled between Steve’s thighs near the end of grandfather's stay. It had been another lesson night, one where Bucky had been forced to sit and watch as Steve flirted at the bar in his pretty dress with leering men and grabbing hands. Bucky had tried to kill them all, but grandfather was watching and Saoirse was sharpening a knife while glaring at them. And Bucky had gone through a bottle of vodka but hadn’t killed anyone so grandfather had loudly proclaimed his approval which was just fine. 

Especially because one Bucky escorted Steve home he’d ducked under Steve’s skirt to worship his beautiful doll until Steve was panting and begging for their bed. So of course Bucky indulged his sweet boy because he could never deny Steve anything he asked for. 

Long story short? Bucky found the whole night a success as he panted desperately into Steve’s neck while his hips thrust desperately into Steve’s wet heat. Gods, Bucky never wanted to be anywhere else in the world than right here, with Steve’s nails digging into his back as his little love panted for breath in his arms. 

“Buck...Buck...feels so good,” Steve whined into Bucky’s wet kiss, a sweet happy sound. Another adoring kiss and Bucky couldn’t help but pull back to stare at the pretty sight before him.

Steve looked gorgeous. All ruffled blond hair and pleasure glazed eyes as he writhed frantically on their bed. His pretty mouth was still stained with lipstick (and of course Bucky had made a mess of it) and his pretty chest was covered in marks Bucky had left. Marks he’d be preening over for the next week anytime he saw them on Steve’s milky skin. “So pretty,” Bucky growled, a low rumbling sound, “So gorgeous doll. My sweet girl…”

Steve’s eyes rolled back into his head on a particularly hard thrust, body twisting from pleasure in a way that would stress his already crooked spine. Bucky didn’t even think, just tucked a strong arm under Steve’s body so his crooked spine wouldn’t ache the next day. Sure, the angle to make Steve’s eyes cross in pleasure was a bit trickier now but it didn’t matter. Not with Steve propped up on their pillows so his lungs could work and his weight held securely with Bucky’s strength. “I’ve got you doll,” Bucky promised, panting as his gut tightened with pleasure, “Let go Stevie, I’ve got you lovely, just let go for me…”

And Steve, his sweet boy, did just as Bucky asked and gave in. Pretty blue eyes rolled back again as Steve came, mouth hanging open in a silent scream as he shook and shook in Bucky’s arms. And dear god, Steve felt so good around him! Bucky was helpless to do anything but follow Steve into pleasure, giving in even as he buried himself nice and deep in Steve’s welcoming body. Bucky snarled, latching his teeth into their shared pillow to muffle his bellow (he’d only bitten Steve the once after they fucked and had drawn blood. Never again) even as he pressed against their apartment wall so he didn’t squeeze Steve too hard…

The thin, shitty apartment wall that gave out under Bucky’s hand with a crack. Leaving Bucky gaping at the wall instead of gazing adoringly at Steve, trying to figure out how the hell he had punched through up to his forearm. “What the hell,” Bucky muttered, knowing he was gaping like a dope but really?

Steve just stared with shocked blue eyes, horrified awareness creeping in slowly as furious voices began to come from their neighbors. “Shit,” Steve hissed, “Buck...Bucky get my wig and your Sunday shirt!”

“What?” Bucky couldn’t look away from the wall. 

“My wig!” A hard kick from Steve against his hips had Bucky snapping back to attention. “Get my wig and put some underwear on! Right now!”

It was only years of intensive training to follow Steve’s directions (because they led to sweet kisses) that Bucky was able to listen. Somehow he managed not to trip over his own feet as he tossed the wig over to Steve. It was a close call though as he dragged his pants back on, nearly falling over and braining himself on the edge of the bed when his pants legs caught him up. 

Steve was just settling the wig on his head when the pounding on their front door started up. Bucky froze as the furious voice of their neighbor echoed through the tiny apartment. Wide eyed, he turned helplessly to Steve and hissed, “What do I do!”

Steve, beautifully naked and covered in Bucky’s marks, just rolled his eyes. The punk. “Make them go away Buck! It’s not that hard!”

“Yes it is!” Bucky snarled, fingers clumsily zipping up his fly, “Mrs. Guttadaro is terrifying! I don’t want to talk to her!”

“Then you shouldn’t have punched through the wall,” was Steve’s merciless answer even as he slid out of bed to shove Bucky towards the door, “Get going jerk. I’ll be right behind you.”

Bucky reached out dragging Steve in close even as the pounding on the door got pounder, snarling, “Not naked, you won’t. No one gets to see that but me.”

A besotted smile was Steve’s response. “Silly man,” he cooked sweetly standing on his toes to bestow a sweet kiss before pushing away with a coy smile. “Go deal with the dragon from next door.”

“Fine. But only since you asked me nice and pretty,” Bucky turned on his heel, storming towards the door with single minded focus. The drive to send the intruder away, to lock prying eyes out and tuck himself back into bed with his Stevie was what caused him to stupidly throw open the door and glare down his neighbor. “What the hell do you want!”

Mrs. Guttadaro was a typical Italian mother from the neighborhood. In charge of a wild brood of terrors, a little pump, and with a fierce temper. A temper that was now fixed on Bucky as murder flashed in her eyes. “Barnes,” utter loathing was clear in her voice as she dragged judging eyes over his bare torso, “Do you want to tell me why your fist came through my wall?”

Now, normally Bucky would blush and stutter out an apology before slinking away. But he was tired, grumpy, and furious so his survival instincts were clearly gone. “Not really, seeing how it isn’t your business.”

“It is my business when you punch through my son’s bedroom wall at bedtime!”

“Well, then your son should stop screeching at night so I don’t have to punch through walls to make it stop!”

“You tried to attack my son!? You terrible monster!”

“A monster who wants to fucking sleep, you deranged bat!”

“Than you should use a bit of common fucking courtesy James Buchanan Barn…”

“Jamie? Sweetheart? Whose yelling?”

The throaty voice, full of sex appeal and promise, brought Mrs. Guttadaro’s screaming to a halt. Instead, her eyes widened in shocked horror as she gasped at the sight behind her. And when Bucky turned to figure out what was so stunning (and who the hell was interrupting his fight damnit) he couldn’t help but gale stupidly as well. 

Because standing shyly in the doorway was his Stevie. Looking soft and pretty as he rubbed helplessly at his eyes, one of Bucky’s button up shirts dwarfing him to the point where it looked like a dress on his tiny frame. Which must have been the point Bucky realized. Because with the blond wig on, Steve looked the very picture of a thoroughly disheveled woman with the hickeys standing out clearly on his neck and his bare feet rubbing helplessly against each other as he leaned against the wood with a small pout. 

Gods above, he was gorgeous. Incredibly sexy with the shirt sliding off a pale shoulder and all Bucky wanted to do was pin him up against the wall and lick his way into that pretty red lipstick stained mouth…

“Well now,” Mrs. Guttadaro’s stunned gasp returned Bucky to the present. “I see.” Her judging eyes turned to Bucky, fixing him with a flinty look. “I should have known.”

Bucky, not entirely sure what she was saying when he was so distracted, still knew enough to bristle in annoyance and snarl, “Know what?”

But Mrs. Guttadaro clearly dismissed him, looking over his shoulder to stare judgmentally at Steve. “I hope you managed to keep your voice down dearie. James’s roommate is a sweet boy who needs his sleep and doesn’t need a someone keeping him up.”

Bucky, absolutely stunned by the nerve of her, spluttered indignantly at the very thought of keeping Steve from his sleep. Steve though, turned bright red in mortification of being brought up by a neighbor to some random woman in the attempt to keep the noise down. “We’ll be more considerate,” Steve managed to get ou, reaching out to pluck at Bucky’s arm and draw him back into the apartment. 

Mrs. Guttadaro’s eyes narrowed, “Be sure you do” and then slammed the door shut leaving them alone in the room. Staring stupidly at the door. 

“Bucky,” Steve muttered slowly, “I’m not going back in our room until you fix the wall.”

“Sure thing doll, whatever you want.”

The next day, when great grandfather came over, he laughed himself sick at the state of their wall. Bucky managed to keep his embarrassment hidden only through sheer force of will. Eventually though the older man stopped laughing and helped patch the wall. “It is normal to react like this,” he told Bucky as they plastered the hole closed, “To lose control of your strength.”

“Why? Because its hard to keep control when having sex?” Bucky sneered, inwardly furious at himself. He couldn’t lose control like that. Not when he had Steve under him, trusting him. 

“No, because you know he isn’t safe,” great grandfather admitted softly. Ancient eyes stared ahead, unseeing even as he worked on the wall, “You know the dangers of being with Steven. That it could lead to his death. So the dragon in you, the predator, fears that when you are together someone will come in and take your mate away from him. Which is why your dragon is close to the surface when you are together, to protect Steve if anyone comes in.”

“So, I won’t hurt Steve?”

Great grandfather chuckled, “You won’t hurt him. But anyone who interrupts you? You’ll kill them.”

“Well, that’s alright then,” Bucky muttered, “As long as Steve’s safe.”

“Heh. Spoken like a true dragon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this freaking chapter three different times, each time making Bucky some different form of magical creature. I was happy with him being a vampire for a month, then got annoyed by it and had to change the whole thing. So I sat down and thought about what my favorite mythical creatures were and which ones I would love writing/would be happy with in the future. 
> 
> And the answer...dragons. I fucking love dragons. Not the nice kind one, I love the forces of nature that reshape the world to their liking and are clever and dangerous. So when I had the chance to incorporate dragons, I seized it. Now, keep in mind Bucky isn’t a full dragon so he can’t turn into one. I’m still debating if I’ll have that happen in the sequel.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took six chapters, and thousands of words, but I have finally reached the chapter leading into the First Avenger. I’m finally getting into the war and all that chaos. 
> 
> So since this is basically an insane world building story that exploded on me, please enjoy the utter insanity caused by my research binges while I avoid grading papers for a while.

It had been a year since Bucky learned about his magic from his grandfather and things had returned to normal in Brooklyn. Steve continued to work at the bar, keeping a fairly consistent schedule except for when the crows dragged him out into conflict. Saoirse was...she just was. Always crackling with magic and witchcraft that poured into her food. Bucky kept working at the docks growing stronger and stronger under the pressure. Strong enough that women would look twice at him now that the puppy fat was gone. They would blush and stutter and Bucky learned to take them out dancing to keep the tongues from wagging before returning home to Steve. 

Sure, life was hard. But it was good and they were happy. There was enough food to go around so they didn’t starve. The apartment was warm enough that they didn’t freeze. And at night, they were able to fall together. 

So when Bucky left the docks one day and could feel electricity in the air, he was reasonably nervous. He knew the area. Knew the neighbors and their ways. They weren’t an excitable bunch, not really. Mostly content to keep their heads down and power through the day. The only time they had really gotten excited was back when the Irish Civil War had ended and that had turned ugly fast when the borough had split down the middle between British and Irish. It had led to years of frosty silences in church, to close friends refusing to speak to each other, and Steve getting his nose broken six times trying to fight British-sympathizers (Bucky had left the period with his first grey hairs).

So feeling the same weight? Was not something Bucky was happy about. He could already start to feel the dread creeping through his veins that Steve had found himself in another fight, a feeling that grew worse when he made it to Saoirse’s bar and found the place closed. 

Saoirse’s bar never closed. Bucky was convinced that was because the whole place ran on beer and whatever dark magic she practiced. So finding the windows dark and the woman in question missing? Sent Bucky into a panic. 

The sprint back to Brooklyn from her place was the fastest he had ever experienced. He threw himself across the streets, dodging cars and the people around him with lightning speed. There was a vibrant energy running through the blocks and a distant hum of voices starting to rise from the streets ahead. 

Overhead crows began to caw. Their voices rising up in jubilation as Bucky turned to corner and ran straight into a madhouse. 

The entire block was out en masse. Music was playing over a shitty record player, drowned out by the joyous but toneless singing of every person Bucky knew. Families were dancing in the street while children raced underfoot with their faces painted green and orange. And in the center of it all was Steve. 

Saoirse was there, instead of at the bar where Bucky had expected. She was handing out mug after mug of beer to the crowd around her, a vibrant smile glowing like her wild green eyes. She’d obviously run out of glasses So was filling up coffee mugs and wine glasses that people brought to her from only one keg which seemed like it would never run out of beer.

Steve, eyes glowing almost an electric blue as he moved through the crowd. Practically dancing through the people,and each one he touched seemed to get more and more excited. For his part, Steve seemed to be vibrating out of his skin, egged on by the magic that normally sent him into fights. 

Those wild blue eyes, shining with unnatural light, locked onto Bucky. Steve froze, a beaming smile crossing his face before he went running towards Bucky with wild laughter trailing in his wake. And then all Bucky could do was catch Steve when he crashed into him. Wrap strong arms around Steve’s too thin shoulders and pull him in close. “Bucky,” Steve breathed out, mania clear in every line of his body, “Bucky, Buck, Buck you’re here it’s happening you’re here and it’s happened!”

“Yeah, I’m here Stevie,” Bucky had grab Steve’s chin forcefully to keep the blond from kissing him in broad daylight. (You’d think after years, Steve would have learned some discretion, but no.) “What the hells happening?”

Steve laughed madly and the sound of crow wings and clashing swords echoed in the edges of the sound. “We won Buck! Centuries of war, and we won!”

“Won what?”

“Independence,” Steve breathed and the energy around the started to swell, “Ireland is truly independent and we’ll never bow to them again!” And then the energy broke and a new wave of cheers rose from their neighbors and the area around them. 

And Bucky suddenly got it. Their old neighborhood was Irish. It had been filled with people leaving saucers of milk out on the windowsill, that looked at Steve and murmured Catha, that knew about the legends and myths and had finally won. They had come across the sea or been born on American soil but were Irish. Irish in blood and breath and bone and were now celebrating while the descendants of two of their gods walked among them. It was madness. 

It was beautiful. 

“Bucky,” Steve whispered, “Dance with me?”

“Always,” Bucky promised, “Always Stevie.” And Bucky could do nothing but smile and follow in Steve’s wake into the madness that had taken over the streets. Sure, Bucky didn’t know the words to the Gaelic songs or the steps to the dances, but Steve pulled him along and when Saoirse gave him a beer (it was the first and only beer she gave him without threatening to kill him) Bucky found he still didn’t know the steps to the dance but he could follow along more easily. 

Later, when the magical cask had run dry and everyone went home to sleep, Bucky carried a sleeping Steve to bed. His love had conked out the second the party had ended, when the last of the crows had flown away, and Bucky had carried him back home to rest. And Bucky would have crawled in bed with Steve except Saoirse was slumped over on the couch in the living room and as a good host Bucky knew he had to check in on her, 

After all, she had used a lot of magic today and looked pale. Well, more pale than usual when Bucky settled down next to her on the couch. Exhausted green eyes stared blankly at the wall even as her mouth tightened in annoyance at his presence. 

“Well,” Bucky muttered, “That was some party.”

Saoirse just hummed, fingers absently tracing knots into the sofa. “But?”

“But I thought Ireland was already independent?”

“It was...but this is more. More permanent. The magic felt it and reacted,” pride filled Saoirse’s face, “The Republic of Ireland. True freedom from British oppression, a new country for us.” Her smile twisted a bit, “Or most of us as the case may be. But the magic knows. The Emerald Isle stands strong once more.”

“So it’s a magic thing, that’s why you and Steve were so affected,” Bucky murmured, “The magic.”

Saoirse nodded, “It’s getting stronger. Something is coming and the gods and goddesses of home are preparing.” She fixed Bucky with a heavy look, green eyes suddenly ancient in a young face. “And I’m pretty sure Steve will be right in the middle of it.”

Bucky’s eyes drifted back the bedroom where Steve was resting. “Then we’ll be ready to keep him safe.”

(Across the seas, the people of Dublin celebrated the new country in the streets. They ran about, laughing brightly, their eyes skittering over the woman standing in front of Trinity College. Her wild red hair was tangled in the wind, her bright green war paint highlighting her eyes as she watched with a smug smile on her face. “It is a thing of beauty, when you finally win,” Macha murmured, turning smug eyes towards her golden sister, “Isn’t victory wonderful Badb?” 

“We haven’t won yet,” Badb answered, blue eyes staring to the north, “There’s still a war to fight.”

“Two wars,” Morrigan murmured appearing veiled from the shadows. Hidden red eyes stared easy, The tides of war and building, and will break soon. We must be ready.”

“The Germans?” Macha scoffed, “This Hitler will bring war. But not to Ireland. Not to our people.”

“But what of our people scattered throughout the world?” Badb questioned.

Macha rolled her eyes. “Just because your grandson is in New York…”

“With your granddaughter, sister. Do not forget that.”

“Still. They are Irish but they aren’t. They are not our concern.”

“All our people are our concern Macha, do not forget,” Morrigan warned,the weight of centuries in her voice, “We must be concerned about this war. It will be different than any war before. More brutal, more bloody, more merciless. And Steven will be in the center of it all.”

Badb’s mouth twisted, “I know sisters. But that doesn’t mean I have to like my boy going to war.”

“But it is necessary, he was born for this,” Macha reminded as gently as she could, “He will be ready.” And that was all they could ask for, standing together as one while the clouds of war gathered over Europe.)

The day the war started in Europe was bright and sunny. Bucky was working at the docks, the radio playing in the background when the news came on. The soft spoken newscaster announced that Germany had invaded Poland and war was declared. Bucky dropped the bag of flour he had been unloading and ran. Ran home like every other man on the dock to find out what was happening, to grab their families and promise that everything would be alright. 

So Bucky ran to Steve, terrified of what this new war would bring. 

Steve, for his part, was busy helping Saoirse set up the bar for the night. Saoirse had decided to serve more food along with the beer and Steve had been roped into helping because that’s what family did. Plus, Saoirse had never been as poor as Steve so she didn’t know the right ways to make food stretch pass the breaking point and still be full. 

Even if Saoirse was watching the pot of seafood stew with a wrinkled nose. “I don’t trust it.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “That’s the third time you said that. And it’s not a big deal. There’s nothing wrong with barnacles and clams.”

“Clams are unnatural and barnacles are ocean trash,” Saoirse hissed, “I’m not feeding that to my customers.”

“I lived off it for years and I’m fine,” Steve grumbled purposefully dumping more of them into the stew out of spite. “And the foods nice and cheap too so there’s no problem…”

Saoirse held up a hand to stop him, eyes narrowed as she turned to stare at the doorway. “Something is coming.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed at the warning. He reached down and grabbed one of the knives from the cutting block just in case. He was well aware of how their world worked and didn’t want to be caught off guard. “A fight?”

“Sort of. It’s not good whatever it it,” Saoirse stepped smoothly out from the bar and trailed her fingers over the knot work. The air seemed to grow heavier, a promise of violence now hanging in the space between her and the door, magic cracklings along Steve’s skin causing his arm hair to stand on end. It built slowly like a wave, rising and rising to greater heights…

Only to crash into nothing when Bucky came slamming through the door. “Oh,” Saoirse muttered her voice increasingly unimpressed by his presence. “It’s just you.”

Normally this would have been the start of a fight. Of Bucky and Saoirse facing off and sniping at each other until Steve could distract them from each other. But today Bucky just pushed past her and grabbed Steve, pulling him in close. 

“Bucky?” Hesitantly, Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist. His love was shaking, something Steve had never experienced before. Even when Bucky had been learning to control his instincts and the magic in him, he had been strong and powerful, coming into his inheritance. Now he seemed diminished somehow even as he wrapped himself fully around Steve’s body. “What happened?”

Bucky let out a shuddering breath, “Germany just invaded Poland.”

Steve pushed away, too stunned to speak even as Saoirse collapsed into a chair. “What do you mean,” Steve whispered.

“War. Germany just started another war,” Bucky admitted. Saoirse let out a wounded noise at the announcement curling into herself. “England and France are going to fight.” He tugged weakly at Steve’s wrists trying to pull him back in.

Steve wouldn’t go though. Something in him wouldn’t let it happen. “We’re not going though, are we. The United States isn’t declaring war.”

Bucky looked down. “No.”

Furry, sharp and burning started in Steve’s chest. He could feel the ever constant ember that Badb’s magic gave him stoking the coal higher and higher. How dare they, Steve realized, turn their backs. They had promised alliances, promised help and protection. And when the rest of the world needed them to go through on their promise? They did nothing! There was no true honor in war, but there was less honor in turning aside and pretending the world did not exist. “We should,” Steve spat our unable to look at Bucky’s heartbroken eyes. “We should be fighting them too!”

Bucky’s grip on his hands tightened, “Stevie…”

“What use are we sitting here, doing nothing? When the Nazis destroy everything in their wake leaving nothing alive…”

“Steven,” Saoirse’s voice cut through his rage. “You need to calm down. You’ll give yourself an asthma attack.”

“That's What you care about? Really! The world is at war and we just focus on…”

“We will be joining the war!” Saoirse snarled, the magic crackling in the air around her. Steve didn’t have time to respond before Bucky was shoving him back, snarling at the witch dangerously for the perceived threat.

Except Saoirse didn’t care. She had never been threatened by Bucky, not even after he awoken his more draconian side. No, she only had eyes for her cousin. Her wide eyed cousin who she just couldn’t stay mad at. With a huff, Saoirse slumped down again releasing her magic. “America will join, it’s just a matter of time. So yes, I will focus on your health because you will need it soon enough.” A wry smile crossed her face. “I know you will fight Steve. Enjoy your peace a little while longer.”

Bucky’s arms tightened, a defiant growl the only warning Steve got before he was being dragged from the bar and back to their home. “Bucky…”

“You’re going to try and fight in this war,” Bucky grumbled, voice low and furious with the barely suppressed rage of one who couldn’t protect their loved ones from the world, “I know you will. So please, let me have you safe and in bed until that day comes. Just for me.”

“Alright,” Steve whispered, “Just for you Buck.” And the bright smile Steve got? Worth his promise. Especially when Bucky dragged him to bed and made him forget his name from the pleasure (without breaking the wall this time, so progress). This was all Steve wanted from life, laid out under his best guy. But the ember in his chest kept burning, reminding Steve that he had another purpose besides just being with Bucky. 

Later that night when the moon had risen and Bucky was deeply asleep, Steve slid out of bed. He did so after pressing an adoring kiss to Bucky’s cheek when his lover grumbled in his sleep, soothing him back to his dreams. A helplessly fond smile was tossed over his shoulder as Steve pulled on his dressing robe, a beautiful pale green satin thing that did nothing to keep Steve warm but made him feel beautiful all the same. It was his favorite present from Bucky so far. 

Quick efficient movements tied the robe closed as Steve quitely slid open the window to the fire escape. Bare feet pressed against cold metal as Steve scampered up the rickety ladder until he reached the top of the building. The concrete seemed to glow in the hazy moonlight as Steve walked across it to meet the figure standing proudly in the center. 

Badb, who normally greeted Steve with bright smiles and teasing jokes about his Bucky, looked particularly grave today. Her normally bright blonde hair was streaked with grey for the first time, her face finally showing wrinkles and signs of age. 

Stricken, Steve stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Máthair Mhór,” the formal words, the first time Steve simply didn’t say grandmother, fell from his tongue, “What happened?”

“War my love. A bloody, long, pointless war,” Badb sighed, dragging Steve into a rough hug.

Steve tucked himself close, reveling in the familiar hold. “Will you fight?” Unasked, will Ireland fight?

Badb sighed mournfully. “Officially? No. But there are enough Irish elsewhere that I will still enter combat. I will walk the battlefield once more.” She smiled briefly. “No doubt you will walk besides me into the breach this time, A Pheata.”

Steve stepped back, looking out over the rooftops. “Bucky doesn’t want me to fight.”

Badb hummed softly, “He said this?”

“No, but I know him. And I know he doesn’t want me to fight. He never does.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. He loves you, and no one wants to see their loved ones hurt. Let alone ones descended from dragons,” Badb snorted, the two sharing the same exasperated look briefly before the smiles faded away. “Grandson, I came to speak with you to warn you.”

A cold wind had Steve wrapping his arms around his torso in the hopes of keeping himself warm.

Badb turned away, exhaustion clear on her once young face. “This War is unlike any that has ever come before. I can tell already that the cruelty and death with be more than ever experienced.”

“How do you know,” Steve asked softly. 

Badb did not answer right away. Instead her glowing blue eyes stared darkly over the water, towards Europe. “The last war, the Great War, was unlike anything seen before. The amount of dead, the number of those who suffered...never before had so many died so slowly in complete agony. Europe’s grounds are soaked in blood and buried corpses, the rage and pain sucked into the land itself.” A heavy sigh. “There is no stronger magic than that of blood, bone, and breath. The more dead, the more powerful the magic will become.”

“And we lost an entire generation,” Steve, who had lost his father there, murmured sadly. 

Badb nodded. “The magic has been storing, and Hitler has been adding to it with his...camps.” Badb practically spat out the word, eyes dark and flashing with barely controlled violence. “The magic will break and cause this war and be unlike any we have ever seen before. Once more, magic will determine the course of war. And you grandson, will be among there. The magic in your veins will call for nothing less.”

Steve, unsure of what to possibly say, simply nodded. Helplessly he leaned into his grandmother’s side and let her hold him until the sun started to rise. Only then did Steve turn and walk back down the fire escape and crawl into bed where a worried Bucky dragged Steve in close to warm him from the night time chill. 

For the next few months, every mention of the war had Steve’s lips thinning in rage even as he turned silently away. He knew Saoirse and Bucky were worried about the silence, but it did not concern him. There was nothing he could do but wait, wait and feel the magic building and building in the air and just know that he would soon be called on to fight. 

And it burned to do nothing. 

(Across the sea, the magic broke and chaos descended on the world. Wrights and wraiths rose from the Great Wars battlegrounds, dragging their victims screaming down under the earth. Golems were created hastily in the Jewish ghettos for protection, but many were destroyed before they could start the fight. For the Nazis studied the occult and knew the signs, even as the German spirits who had been humiliated in the last war rose up to regain their standing. 

In Greece the remaining dryads and nymphs watched nervously while their Italian siblings and rose once more under the remaining old gods in a desperate attempt to reclaim the glory of Rome. They marched on North Africa believing the spirits and gods there to be gone. But the jinn retrieved and fought back, snarling and furious against another colonizer with ruthless efficiency. The rest of the spirits and gods of Africa watched nervously, shifting with coiled power while Bast closed the borders of Wakanda decisively. 

The Slavic spirits first broke under invasion. Scattered and confused, they could not unify until Vlad stepped forward to lead them once more. He brought together the gods and spirits to fight with everything they had. They brought the creeping cold back to destroy their enemies and knew they would win. And all the while, Vlad worried about his great grandson across the sea and his grandson’s love. 

Not even the east was spared of the fighting. Yokai, oni, and tengu followed their soldiers across Asia into battle and conquest. With the dragons long gone, there was nothing that could stop them. The xiezhi and rui shi were pushed back after waves of attack. And the haetae and dokkaebi did what they could to help their people in Korea, but were overwhelmed even as more and more gwisin arose under Japanese control. 

And across the seas, the American spirits waited, creatures of land, of water, fire and lava old as the earth itself. They rumbled from the magic in the air and land and waited. Power coiling dangerously close to their chests. Until the Japanese attacked, and ancient eyes opened for the first time since the white man had come and fixed dangerously to the west in a search for long sought for vengeance and blood. Now, after the seventh day in December, they had joined the war. More blood, both mortal and magical, would be spilled before these gods slumbered once more.

And all Badb could do was watch, mourning the suffering her boy would now have to face when he entered the fight.)

The day the United States entered WWII, as it was now called, the entire country went insane. Lines appeared in recruitment centers, wrapping around the blocks as every young able bodied man threw themselves into war. Rations were already being planned, victory gardens starting to pop up. Everybody preparing for war. 

Including Steve. Well, especially Steve. Who packed away his dress and satins and face paints for the war effort. Who went every day went to different recruitment centers to try and join the fight. Who was turned away from each one, and returned furious and heartbroken to Bucky who then tried to calm down Steve so he didn’t give himself an asthma attack. 

“I just don’t get it,” Bucky grumbled, glaring down into his pint. Saoirse just hummed, filling up other glasses and keeping an eye on Steve as he walked around passing out drinks. Now that Steve’s temper was shorter and his dresses gone, it was more likely than ever that he would get into a fight with a patron. 

“Why does he have to try to fight?” Bucky grumbled taking a long pull from his drink, “Why can’t he just stay home, where he’ll be safe?”

“It’s built into him,” Saoirse reminded him. “He physically is compelled to fight Barnes. There’s nothing we can do to stop him.”

“Please, I’ve got a compulsion.” A slow drive to go and fight for his homeland, to go into battle with his great grandfather and reclaim his native soil from the invaders. And the other drive to wrap Steve in blankets and hide him away from the world. “But you don’t see me acting on the compulsion.”

Saoirse rolled her eyes. “But you’re mostly human. So of course it isn’t that strong.”

“What do you mean?”

“You only have an eighth of magic blood. Your mother is a granddaughter of magic, your father has no magic to speak of. The magic you carry is so diluted you can ignore it.” Saoirse slid a shot of whiskey to him while pouring another for herself. “Our magic is different. There isn’t an Irish person alive who doesn’t have magic in their line. So we all have it in us. Not to mention your great grandfather is a spirit, which is weaker than a god. And Steve’s great grandmother is a god. Always going to trump mortal lineage.” She toasted him with the shot before downing it. 

Bucky picked up his shot, watching the light shine through the liquid. “He’s not going to be able to stop, is he?”

“No. He’s going to do whatever it takes to fight,” Saoirse sighed, “Our job is going to be keeping him alive to get him there.” 

Bucky just nodded, mournful even as he downed the shot before returning back to his pint. In a couple of seconds, the glass was empty and Bucky was sliding out of his seat and over to Steve. Saoirse just rolled her eyes as she watched her cousin be herded out the door by his lover, already knowing that within the hour Steve and Bucky would be in bed. Life continued on as normal for a little while longer. 

(That night, if Bucky was a bit more desperate, clung tighter to Steve...well. Steve certainly wasn’t complaining about the extra attention.)

The months dragged on, and the streets of Brooklyn slowly emptied. The young men disappeared and even the women started to go as well. The ones left behind were the sick, the elderly, the children, and the immigrants. The few young adults who didn’t volunteer were now being dragged into the fight with the draft. The factories and docks were emptying slowly but surely. 

And Bucky was terrified. Terrified of the day his draft letter would come, because he would never willingly leave Steve to fight. And normally Steve would see his fear and do all he could to sooth Bucky. But he was unable to focus with the need to fight growing higher and higher in his veins every day. It was an uneasy peace held together by denial and blindness. A peace that could not last.

And the day the peace broke brought their carefully constructed life crashing down around their ears. 

The draft letter came in the mail, and Steve was the one who picked it up. He had been at home recovering from a cold while Bucky picked up extra shifts at the docks to shore up their savings before the winter started. It was part of the course in the new wartime economy. Where they’d once struggled to find employment, there was now a surplus of work for them to do. But even with the extra coin, it was still necessary for Steve to clamber down the stairs to gather their mail. 

Now with the letters clenched tight in hand, Steve scurried back up the steps to the relative warmth of the apartment. It was easy to close the door now that they’d been able to fix it for one that fit, and the start of the autumn chill was finally kept out of the room. 

It was just years of habit that had Steve settling into the kitchen chair with a cup of tea to shift through the mail. Hopefully he’d keep himself from catching too bad a cold this year, and Saoirse had promised her newest batch would help. 

And it better help, Steve mused wryly as he flicked through the bills and adds, because the mix tasted disgusting. He didn’t know what she’d put in the damn drink but could swear it was revenge for his making her serve the seafood stew months ago. It would be just like her to sit on a grudge for months before acting on...oh. 

Clever hands stopped. Shaking fingers clung tight to the official letter to Bucky even as disbelief began to fill him. It couldn't possibly be, Steve thought desperately, there was no way a draft card had come in the mail for Buck. It wasn’t possible.

Except it was possible. The proof was sitting in his hands, pulled fretfully out of the envelope. Plain as day the words called James Buchanan Barnes to service, to training, and then to war. Off to fight and die across the seas, while Steve was left behind at home without him. 

Steve couldn’t help himself. Angry, frustrated sobs left him as he curled around the letter, sobbing brokenly. 

That was how Bucky found him that evening. Crying harshly, his lungs starting to seize from the exertion. “Stevie, doll what’s wrong?” Bucky threw himself into the chair, gently dragging Steve into his lap. Loving hands tucked Steve into his shoulder, letting the hot tears stain his shirt. 

Steve, unable to talk now that he was gasping for breath, just shook his head in denial and handed the letter over. Bucky used his free hand to take the letter even as he nuzzled into the fine blond hair. “Come on love, breathe with me,” Bucky cooed even as his eyes scanned the letter. He couldn’t keep from frowning at the call to service. He’d known it was coming any day, but it was still a shock to known he had to go so soon. “Oh Steve. I’m sorry you found this.”

“It’s not fair,” Steve wailed clearly uncaring that he was making his asthma worse, no matter how Bucky tried to shush him. “You shouldn’t have to go! It should be me!”

“Steven…”

“No! It’s true and you know it! I’m the one who's supposed to go,” Steve’s breath hitched, “I’m the one who actually wants to go to war, and you don’t! You shouldn’t have to go…”

“But I do. And I’m not going to get myself arrested and leave you all alone here without anyone to look after ya,” Bucky murmured dropping the letter to wrap both of his arms around Steve. “Everything will be alright love. I promise.” It didn’t really take any effort for Bucky to stand up with Steve safe and secure in his arms. A few steps and he was laying his sniffling love down on their bed. Bucky smiled sweetly as he swung up onto the bed, covering Steve’s body with his own. A few loving kisses had the blonde’s sniffling stop and a wandering hand had Steve’s gasps becoming more pleasure filled as they came together that night. 

Later that night when the moon was shining through the dining room window, Bucky held Steve close. The smaller man had tucked himself against the curve of Bucky’s body, his good ear directly over Bucky’s beating heart while clever fingers inked in Celtic knots around Bucky’s wrist. Bucky was gently running his free hand through Steve’s fine blonde hair while wishing for a cigarette in the cool night air. 

“Whatcha drawing there?” Bucky murmured.

“Protection spell,” Steve whispered, turning his head to press a quick kiss to Bucky’s chest. “Should last you through basic, and right before you ship out Saoirse can tattoo it on you.”

Bucky couldn’t help but grimace at the thought of Saoirse coming near him with a needle. “Do I have to?”

“Well, her magic is stronger than mine so it would be permanent,” Steve whispered gently. “You’d be safe.”

Bucky just sighed, tugging Steve closer to himself. “I’ll keep myself safe as long as you do the same. Promise me I won’t come home to find you with black eyes and half the neighborhood after your blood.”

“I’d never get into trouble Buck.”

“You dirty little liar.”

Two days later Bucky boarded his train and headed off to basic. He left with the promise of the block to keep an eye on Steve which was as much as he could get. His mother promised to keep an eye on Steve for him, the same gimlet draconian glare that had kept the boys in line all their lives. With that promise Bucky felt fine knowing he would be able to leave Steve behind in relative safety. (Saoirse didn’t promise him that. Bucky had asked, and she’d glared, offended he would dare question her attention towards Steve.)

So Bucky left. And Steve stayed behind. And life continued on. Steve kept going back to work at the bar, getting into fights in the evening that the neighbors dragged him out of. His dresses were moved into Saoirse’s apartment so she could look after them.

(In basic Bucky rose to the higher ranks attention. Killer instincts, the officers muttered watching Barnes move through training. Never hesitated on a shot, always went for the throat. The perfect combination of masculine superiority and danger. A class material to become a Sergeant no doubt. And each night Bucky would lie in his bunk and feel the dragon rage under his skin at being separated from his chosen mate. Just dying to return to Steve’s side.)

Two months later and Steve found himself nervously at the Barnes’s apartment preparing for Bucky’s arrival after basic. Winifred had ordered him to come by and Steve was honestly too terrified to say no. So he joined her in the kitchen, puttering around to prepare dinner. 

“So James is coming home tonight,” Winifred muttered, sharp eyes watching Steve slice the apples for the cake as she prepared the roast, “Has he mentioned to you when he’ll be shipping out?”

“Not yet,” Steve whispered, “I imagine he’ll want to tell everyone at once.”

She just hummed softly, eyes distant even as she set the pan in the oven. “You’re planning on joining as well. Aren’t you?”

Steve just shrugged. Knowing it would be answer enough.

“I figured. Knew you wouldn’t be able to stay out of the fight,” Winifred gently pulled him in for a hug, squeezing tight enough that Steve’s breath hitched, “I just want both my boys to come home safe. You hear me?”

Steve nodded into her shoulder, holding tight to her while the lump in his throat prevented him from talking. By the time he had his emotions under control, the front door had banged open and Bucky’s bright voice drew the pair from the safety of the kitchen and to the rest of the family. 

Bucky looked good, Steve realized with a shy blush. Oh, Buck had a,ways been handsome. But this? The sight of his dress uniform highlighted the flex of muscles as Bucky drew his father in for a hug. A beaming smile on his face when he pulled away to greet the girls, and all Steve could do was press up against the living room wall and hope his blush wasn’t too prominent. Because sure, all of the Barnes family knew exactly what they got up to, but Steve did want a little bit of discretion to hide behind please and thank you. 

Except Bucky clearly didn’t believe in the same principle. Because the second he saw Steve, his smile got that much bigger and sappier and before Steve could blink he was wrapped in strong arms that tucked him in close. “Stevie,” a sweet kiss to golden hair, a breath sounding like prayer, “You came…”

“Yes, well. I had to welcome you home jerk,” Steve pushed back with a scowl, determined to ignore the bright red blush staining his cheeks. Even though the rest of the Barnes family clearly wasn’t judging by their grins. “Now, quit standing around. Your Ma and I spent all day cooking and I won’t have you wasting it James Barnes.”

Bucky chuckled, murmuring “yes dear” coyly before he escorted Steve to the table and got the blond situated. Becca just grinned at her brother, hissing “whipped” at him when Bucky went to get Steve a plate from the kitchen mush to the amusement of the other Barnes girls. 

Or it would have been if Winifred hadn’t glared and hissed “Rebecca, you leave your brother alone” with the implied threat all mothers carried which vowed the girls into silence. George though, from years of practice in a household where he was clearly outnumbered, just tucked into his dinner without looking up in an effort to not get involved with the whole mess. 

“Can’t believe I actually missed this,” Bucky muttered sliding back into his seat with the food safely in hand.

Steve gladly took his plate. “Hey, I volunteered to join this. Don’t complain to me.”

George sent a comisterating look towards Steve. “Takes a certain amount of insanity to willing join this lot Steve. Trust me, I chose to marry into the madness.” Winifred’s offended gasp was met by her children’s bright laughter and Steve’s sweet smile.

(The first time George Barnes realized Steve Rogers was one of his people was when the boy was twelve and George came back from a long day of work at the factory. He’d opened the door to the common sound of yelling, with Bucky standing on the couch pushing Abigail away while Grace and Becca tried to drag him down and over the back. George had just stared, not wanting to know what they were fighting about before finally noticing Steve curled up in a chair working on homework. 

“You’re not getting involved?” He’d asked.

Steve had looked up, stared briefly at the siblings, before clearly declaring, “Not even if you’d pay me to sir.”

George had just hummed, inwardly delighting at finding a kindred spirit before tugging Steve into the kitchen and getting the boy a beer to commiserate with. It had been worth Winifred and Sarah’s wrath for the shy smile Steve had given him.)

It was a happy dinner, bright and cheerful and full of laughter Even as they all clearly chose not to address the elephant in the room. Or at least, that was the agreement until dessert. “So, James,” George asked as the apple pie was passed out, “Did you receive your orders?”

Bucky’s eyes darted away even as he deliberately took a bite of the pie to keep silent a little while longer. “Yeah. Got told we’re going to be shipped off to Europe soon.”

Steve reached out under the table, grabbing Bucky’s hand close. Abigail, the youngest child, was the one to softly ask, “When?”

Bucky squeezed Steve’s hand tight. “Sometime in the next two weeks. They’ll be shipping us out soon.”

“Then we’ll just have to make the most of it,” Winifred announced, like that was that. 

But it wasn’t. Because Bucky didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to fight, he wanted to stay home and live out his life here. It had always been Steve who needed the thrill of the fight, while Bucky was content to hoard his pretty doll in their bed. 

“It’s not fair,” Steve whispered for the millionth time that night. 

Bucky, stretched out under Steve’s body in all his handsome glory, just hummed. He was clearly dozing off after their earlier activities, strong hand rubbing soothing circles up and down Steve’s naked back. “What’s not fair doll?”

“That you have to fight,” Steve whispered against bare skin, “That you have to kill. That they’re making you leave me behind…”

Bucky leaned down, gently kissing the words away until Steve was calm and relaxed against his chest again. “I know love. I hate it too. But one day soon everything will work out and I’ll make you the happiest person alive.”

Steve snorted. “Sap.”

“Your sap.” Bucky cooed, fluttering his eyelashes, “I’ll always come back to my pretty dolly, just you wait.” Steve just laughed at the ridiculous man, leaning up to kiss Bucky before settling back down for the night. He’d worry about the world in the morning. 

The next week went by quickly for Bucky. He spent the days with his family, allowing the girls drag him around the town while Steve went into work. And at night, he’d pick Steve up from the bar and take his boy home for a more private good time. It was so easy to pretend nothing was going to change, that he wouldn’t have to go to war. 

Or it was until the telegram came forcing Bucky out of bed and off to report for his orders, leaving Steve alone to worry about it until Bucky came back to tell him what the orders were. 

So instead of fretting in the apartment, Steve headed out to the theater to keep himself entertained. Because sure, they always had the news about the war, but the film should keep Steve from getting to wrapped up in his head. 

And oh boy, he stay out of his head. It wasn’t supposed to be an issue, not really. Just watch a film and then go home to Bucky. But then some asshole started spouting off shit and Steve snarled right back at him. Really, it wasn’t a surprise. He’d been on a hair trigger all week. 

But it still ended with Steve in a back alley getting his ass handed to him by a guy twice his size and no sign of stopping. Or, no sign of it stopping until a furious Bucky appeared with a furious snark and sent the asshole running, tail between his legs.

“Buck, I’m fine,” Steve protested even if he did let his mate drag him up off the ground and into a protective embrace, “He didn’t even hit me that hard, see? My nose isn’t broken!”

Bucky, still growling, did not seem pleased by that. “Shouldn’t have laid hands on you in the first place. Dumbass fool putting his hands on what isn’t his to touch…”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Steve huffed but let himself be pulled along, “Did you get your orders?”

“107th,” Bucky admitted, eyes refusing to look at Steve, “I ship out to Europe tomorrow.”

“Then we should do something fun tonight. A going away present.”

Bucky pouted at the thought. “Can’t the something fun just be you spread out on my bed?”

“Well, it could be but I was thinking more of that Stark Expo you wanted to see,” Steve grinned knocking his shoulder into Bucky, “Come on. We’ll take the girls, make a fun night of it. A family night with no parents.”

“You’d rather we be spending time with my sisters instead of…”

“I’ll tell Saoirse not to show up at all tonight if we go.”

“Well, alright then. Let’s go to the future doll.” Steve went a quick grin back, allowing Bucky to drag him away. He didn’t mention the pull he felt to the expo. The constant need to just walk in there and look around because something momentous was supposed to happen there. Something more, something magical. 

(And Steve also didn’t mention that the blue eyed crows followed him that day. Spent the afternoon perched on the fire escape as they watched Steve and Bucky get the girls together to head off towards the expo with the girls trailing in their wake. It’s time, Badb realizes. Her boy is going to change the world.)

The expo itself is beautiful in a strange way. Clearly mechanical, with wires and cogs and engines everywhere. The taste of iron rested on the back of Steve’s tongue, a constant presence even as he walked arm in arm with Becca through the fair. 

“It’s amazing,” Becca announced, eyes wide as she stared at a flash sign talking showcasing an automated home that would talk to you, “Can you even imagine having a house that talks to you?”

Steve, who had been keeping an eye on Bucky being dragged around by the younger girls, just snorted. “Sounds like coming to your apartment really. Always have someone there nattering my ear off.”

Becca shoved him gently, clearly ignoring the sight of Grace nearly tripling Bucky to get to the next exhibit to stare at Steve with worried eyes. “Are you going to be alright? I know Buck going to basic was bad enough.”

“Saoirse has decided to increase my hours at the bar,” Steve admitted dryly, “She’s of the firm belief that hard work will keep me from whining.”

“And out of recruitment centers?”

“She doesn’t care about that. I think she might start shoving me into the centers once Bucky’s gone to get me to shut up about the war.” It was one of the many, many topics where the two disagreed completely. Steve had even stumbled into the pair screaming at each other a few times about if Steve should join the war effort or not. After that night, Steve stopped bringing the war up around them to keep the peace.

Becca shifted slightly, looking nervously around. “Your cousin is a...she’s a witch, right?” The question was whispered, like Becca was afraid someone would hear and go after Saoirse and accuse her of witchcraft. “Can she make sure Buck…”

“She’s already given him a protection charm.” And Steve had watched her then stitched ten more into different pairs of socks just to be sure. “She’d never admit it, but Saoirse is going to miss Bucky.”

Becca rolled her eyes. “Oh, I know. They’ll both miss fighting each other on every little detail, I don’t know how they'll survive.” Steve grinned back, understanding exactly what she meant. Brooklyn would be much quieter without the two declaring war on each other every other day. 

“Stevie!” Grace’s excited shout broke through the air, drawing the pair’s attention back towards the other three. Steve snorted, eyes drawn to Bucky with Abigail perched clearly on his back and Grace tipping him to the side as she hung onto his arm. “There’s going to be a flying car show!”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to miss a flying car,” Steve muttered but let Becca pull him along to join the others. Which was how Steve found himself pressed between Bucky and Becca as Howard Stark came prancing onto the stage under the lights and music with showgirls all around. 

Steve huffed, not entirely excited by the whole thing (why would he be? When magic flowed through his veins?) when the blue eyed crows finally moved. After a day of stillness, they took flight, drawing Steve’s eye up and away from the stage. The bird settled on the eave of the recruitment center with a loud caw, glowing blue eyes drawing Steve away from his family and towards the crow like a puppet on a string. 

He couldn’t help but walk into the center, under the watchful eye of the crow which was puffed up with barely controlled excitement. This, this was where he was meant to be tonight. The crows had finally brought Steve to his destiny…

A powerful hand wrapped around Steve’s arm, swinging him around to meet Bucky’s furious golden eyes. “You cannot be serious,” Bucky snarled, possessive rage clear on his features, “You have to do this the last night I’m here?”

“Yes, I do,” Steve scowled, tugging his arm free to be on a more even footing as he glared up at Bucky, “Men are laying down their lives and I shouldn’t be sitting at home…”

“As who? Steve for Ohio? Illinois?” Bucky shook his head in despair, “Damn it Steve, one day they’re actually going to take you and I won’t be able to keep you safe!”

And it was only because Steve knew that the dragon was riding close under Bucky’s skin, the need to possess and keep its mate safe and happy more strong than ever, that kept Steve from taking a swing at him for that comment. Still, it set Steve straightening his crooked spine in indignation. “I don’t need you to keep me safe James Barnes, I need you to support me in this!”

Bucky’s expression crumpled, the strength leaving him as quickly as the rage had gathered. “I can’t support your death wish,” Bucky whispered, “I can’t watch you die…”

“And I can’t sit helplessly at home waiting for you to come back alive. So you need to let me do this.” Steve stepped back, his eyes sad but knowing that the call was growing and he had to go. He couldn’t stay behind this time. 

And Bucky knew that. He’d always known. So even though it must have killed him inside, Bucky bowed his head and let Steve go. Let Steve turn and walk away into the center before returning outside to collect his sisters and go home. 

Neither saw the man watching their whole interaction, a considering loom crossing his face before he wandered to the examination room. And the man didn’t see the blue eyed crow take flight in victory, swinging out towards the sea and to the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the start of the chapter they’re celebrating Irish Independence Day. To be clear, this is the day the Republic or Ireland was formed, the official one still around today. I figured that the magic would recognize that in a “suck it England” kind of way and Steve and Saoirse got the fall back which led to the party. 
> 
> I love all the magical creatures there. I kind of went insane because I’m binging American Gods before season 2 starts (I’m getting so much inspiration and I love it). Plus, I’m planning out the sequel to this story and it should involve more magic and powers so there’s that.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re finally at the First Avenger, like when the movie picks up with the USO tour, an actual year since I first started this series. My god, it was supposed to be a one shot....what is my life.
> 
> I left the training out, mostly because I didn’t change anything with it. So everything from Steve signing up to Erskine’s death stayed the exact same in this verse so I didn’t really want to write what everyone knows from the movies. So instead, I spent way more time on the USO tour because there’s so much potential.
> 
> Like, the onky thing we see of the tour is the singing in cities part but there’s so much happening in the US at that time. Steve’s just entered this world and is meeting it all.

Standing before the door to Saoirse’s bar, Steve wasn’t exactly sure what to do. A part of him wanted to walk into the familiar room, to throw himself into his cousin's arms and just cling to her. A good man had just died for no real cause. Steve had grown and lost all of his illnesses but couldn’t help it wonder if Erskine's death was worth this, if anything could be worth this. The other part was terrified of opening the door and explaining himself to Saoirse.

(Another hidden part had wanted to put on his dresses and lipstick until he’d realized he wouldn’t fit in those dresses anymore. He’d wanted to just break down and cry over that loss but couldn’t. Not when so many people were watching his every move.)

Still, Steve had been raised to be brave. And that need to be brave had him pushing open the door and entered the familiar room. Saoirse was behind the bar, bent over the glasses she was polishing with deep care. “We’re closed,” she snapped, not looking up from the work, “Come back at sunset and the place will be open.”

Steve’s breath stuttered for the first time in this body at her voice,“I didn’t come for a drink, cousin.”

Saoirse’s head snapped up so quickly Steve could hear the crack across the bar. Her eyes widened as the glass slipped from her hand to hit the floor. It should have shattered before she threw herself over the bar to get to him, but there were charms painted into the floor to prevent such things from happening. 

Not that Steve really cared about that. How could he? When Saoirse was throwing herself into his arms, clinging tight as Steve pulled her close. 

“Steve, oh gods what did you do?” She demanded, pulling back a little to look at him, “You’re…”

“Healthy. No more asthma.” A grin crossed his face at the thought. “And I can hear you in both ears, and see color and why didn’t you ever tell me the color red was so gorgeous?”

Saoirse rolled her eyes at that, drawing away to pull him over to the bar. “Ridiculous boy. How did this even happen?”

“There was a scientist named Erskine. He gave me a serum that turned me into...this.” Steve gestured at himself, shirt straining around the new muscles. 

“Science did this?” Saoirse demanded, looking stunned by the thought. “Not magic?”

“Not that I know of.”

A scowl settled on her face as she picked the glass up off the door before sliding it over to Steve with a bottle of gin. “I still think it’s magic. That’s the only thing that can turn you into...this. Where is this Erskine?”

“Dead.” Steve took a long drink of his gin, eyes trained on the bar. “Hydra killed him so you can’t pick his brain about if it was magic or science. I tried to stop it, but I couldn’t. I still failed.”

“Oh Steve, I’m sorry,” Saoirse reaches out to take his hand in her’s for a brief squeeze. “It’s just...you know no matter how hard you work, bad things still happen and you can’t always stop them. That’s just how the world works. Even heroes fail sometimes.” She pulled back to fix her own drink. “So. What happens now?”

“Government doesn’t want me to go fight. I’m too valuable to lose,” Steve snorted in disgust at the idea. “So instead they’re sending me off to go on some USO tour.” He couldn’t keep the sneer off his face at the idea. 

An idea Saoirse seemed alright with. “That’s a good place to start.”

“You have to be kidding. Me running around in tights?”

“Meeting people. Going places. All of it,” Saoirse grinned at him, excitement clear on her face, “Steve, you’ve only really experience the Irish and Romanian magical communities here. There’s countless other magical places across the US, and countless other creatures throughout the country. You just need to go and find them. Make allies, create the connections that should always be there between our people.”

Steve snorted, “Sounds like you want me to prepare for a war.”

“Because you are. The world is changing, and we’re in the center,” Saoirse huffed, “Grandmother visited me in a dream to warn me everything will change after the war. So we need to be ready.” Her green eyes burned bright at the thought. “We all need to be ready.”

Steve stared at her, his cousin who had always just seemed to know about these things. He thought about how much he trusted her, with his love for Bucky and need for beautiful dresses and how she had never turned him away. So he nodded, determination in his eyes as he leaned towards her. “Alright. I’ll do it.” She’d never steered him wrong before. 

And honestly? When Steve looked back on it years later he would always think this was the best decision he ever made. 

Sure, it was obnoxious to wear spandex and tights on stage while reading lines from cue cards. And the guy who played Hitler was a jerk and Steve May or may not have shoved Senator Brandt out of a window once or twice. But everything else was great. Steve had never realized that magic was attracted to magic because everyone in the old neighborhood all had a bit of magic in them.

But on the road? Well, there Steve found the most interesting people. Like Claudine in the show who had basandere blood in her from her great grandmother and made the most ridiculous paella. There was Madeira who had to wear face paint and a red wig to perform and was was descended from kinara and force fed Steve lumpia because he was just too skinny. Not to mention Catherine who had fae blood in her and watched Steve with stars in her eyes because he was Catha.

And that was just the tour group. 

In Louisiana, Steve met Evangeline who practiced voodoo (or hoodoo, Steve hadn’t really understand the difference when she’d explained one night) and used her magic on the men who owned the sharecroppers land to make their lives just that much harder. She was quick tempered with a wicked laugh that reminded Steve of Saoirse. 

In Wyoming Steve met Coyote, and in New Mexico he met the Corn Mother. Both had been chillingly polite, but their eyes had burned with a deep rage and Steve had left with an uneasy agreement not to fight against them, but no true alliance because they would not trust a white man again. 

In the Dakotas the train broke down and Steve got to step off and onto sacred ground. He met the Black Hills, and stood stunned in the grass and the sunshine by their weight and knowledge that pressed against his mortal soul. They were ancient, more powerful than anything Steve had ever encountered before and he did not want to ever awaken their anger. After all, you can’t fight the land itself. 

At the base of the Rockies a group of Barbegazi came to chat with Steve. They were quite kind, soft spoken and cheerful in the midnight air while diamond dust swirled around them so Steve felt comfortable calling the magical girls over who were delighted to meet more magical creatures. It ended with tips about the best places to go skiing and a new friendship. 

Briefly Steve saw an internment camp when Brandt tried to shoot a propaganda piece there. Except the second Steve had seen the walls he’s refused loudly and constantly to help condone this sort of behavior. Brandt had eventually decided to just send Steve away instead of have a group of wide eyed interned Japanese-Americans watch Captain America lose his shit but the damage had already been done. Excuse Steve was loud, and the story traveled and traveled that Captain America opposed their internment until it made its way overseas. But that was an issue for a later time. (Steve didn’t see it due to his rage, but Byakko watched the entire thing from where he prowled the edges of the camps where he guarded his people. There was no conversation between him and the Catha boy, but he would not forget what he saw that day and would bring it back to the other three guardians.)

After the mess Steve was sent to California with the girls where they tried to shoot Captain America movies. They managed to get half of one finished because a crow kept wrecking the set (Badb was having great fun, she informed her grandson that night) before eventually Steve managed to sneak out when the director lost his shit. He wandered around until he left the city and managed to walk to the edge of a pomegranate orchard near the edge of town. There, a shahapet that rested on the edge of the property watched him with wary eyes. “Catha child. Why are you here?” It demanded. 

Steve just shrugged, looking at the trees. “I just had to get away.”

The shahapet looked nervous, “You don’t bring war to my people?”

“No, I don't want war to touch anyone.”

“Then leave in peace. I cannot let you into the farm because my people are tired and heartsick, but I will remember you.” So Steve did go and returned back to an apocalyptic Brandt who demanded to know where Steve had been. Except Steve had gotten used to not answering questions with truths so he managed to dance around the topic until Brandt got so angry that he left in a huff.

“He’ll make you pay for that,” Claudine whispered that night before the show started. 

Steve, respondents in his bright clothing, had just shrugged. He really didn’t care what happened next, he just wanted the whole mess of a Captain America show to end. So when Brandt announced that he was sending the show to Europe, Steve really wasn’t shocked. Maybe Brandt had set it up to shut Steve up. Maybe he’d done it to dishearten Steve or make him so scared of the front that he fell in line.

Instead, the second Steve stepped foot on Italian soil he knew. This was where he was supposed to be. At the front, going to war with his familial magic egging him on. 

Breathing in smoke and ash and blood, Steve let a smile cross his face. It was a slow, threatening thing that would have awakened the primal lozard part of the brain that registered predator if anyone had been watching him. But no one was paying attention because Steve had locked himself away from the rest of the show’s cast. The magical girls had practically pushed him away from the stage because they could feel the magic swirling under his skin, threatening to explode out as it reacted to war swirling around them. 

(In another life, Steve wouldn’t be vibrating out of his skin from the need to kill, to destroy, to fight. He’d go on stage and be booed off by battle weary soldiers that caused him to retreat away from the all until he eventually found out Bucky had been taken as a prisoner of war. In this world, he would find out much earlier.)

Eventually the magic built up enough that Steve had to get up and move. It was pushing him forward, dragging him out of the tent and into the hazy sunlight were exhausted soldiers stumbled around him in a daze. The draw of magic pulled Steve further in camp, leading him around until he managed to run into the one person he didn’t expect to see here.

“Steve?” Peggy’s incredulous voice drew him from the haze and back to the present.

“Peggy,” Steve stumbled to a stop, eyes wide with shock as he took her in. “What are you doing here?”

“Coordinating an opp to find out what the Germans are up too,” she sent him a warning look at that, most likely to keep him from commenting on her job even though it was the furthest thing from Steve’s mind right then. “Aren’t you supposed to be performing right now?”

“Can’t. The girls were worried that I wouldn’t be able to focus onthe show because of the atmosphere.” It...wasn’t a complete lie. The soldiers had been on edge and it was setting Steve off. He’d been banished after he bent solid steel when the guy playing Hitler had made some stupid comment that set him off. 

Peggy’s eyes were dark as she watched the soldiers. “I’m not surprised. They are the survivors from the 107th.”

Everything in Steve snapped into focus at that. “The 107th?”

“They were destroyed yesterday. Half of them are missing in action after being captured,” Peggy turned away, “They’re presumed dead now.”

His heart and blood were pounding, the beat screaming BuckyBuckyBucky as Steve surged forward into action. Distantly, he could hear the sound of crows starting to caw pm their cries rising above the din as Steve shoved his way into Philips tent with the same single minded determination that had all of Brooklyn diving for cover. 

“Well, if it isn’t the star spangled man with a plan. What can I do for you today?”

“James Buchanan Barnes. Is he missing?” Steve demanded his body tight with the urge to let loose and fight. 

Philips eyes narrowed dangerously even as he reached for the papers. “There a reason you’re coming in demanding information from me?”

“Well, seeing how I’m his next of kin I figured it wouldn’t save you some paper to tell me.” Steve’s eyes flashed with inhuman light. 

Not that Philips noticed. His eyes had closed from a constant grief that onky commanding officers had. By the time his eyes opened again, the light had faded from Steve’s own eyes. “I do remember a Barnes. Wrote his letter declaring him MIA earlier today.” He looked up at Steve, compassion on his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He isn’t allowed to die.” Steve turned on his heel and headed out of the tent. He wasn’t surprised that a blue eyed crow was waiting for him, practically vibrating with excitement to see him. Soon, the crow seemed to say, soon you will enter the battlefield and everything will change. 

A soft hand wrapped around his arm, drawing Steve’s attention away from the crow and to Peggy’s soft eyes. “I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t be. Like I said, Bucky isn’t allowed to die.” Steve pulled free and headed towards the USO tent, determined to get his shield. It was important, he knew that much.

Peggy rushed after him, somehow not breaking her ankle in those heels. “And you have a plan?”

“Yeah, go after him and get Bucky back.”

“You plan on sneaking into behind enemy lines to find one man?”

“No. I’m going to break through enemy lines to save one man,” Steve hissed, the need to go growing stronger and stronger, “Are you going to stop me?”

Peggy just stared. The soft sympathy was gone from her eyes, leaving behind a shuttered gaze that was no doubt trying to study and figure out who this new Steve Rogers really was. Whatever she saw was good enough though, because she stepped forward. “I’m going to help you. And I know someone who will help us. Meet me at the airfield in twenty minutes. We’ll be ready to go then.” She nodded to herself before turning away to march back into the camp.

Steve watched her go, years of ingrained politeness kicking in over the instincts. “Peggy?” She turned back, face still blank. Steve somehow managed to tap into a small smile. “Thank you.”

A little bit of the softness came back to her face, “It’s no problem Steve.” And then she was gone, lost in the mass of green from the moving soldiers. 

A loud caw had Steve moving, stepping into the tent and away from the outside world. He easily found the shield, a flimsy prop that he just knew would be important. He grabbed it quickly, pulling it onto his back as he turned to leave the tent. It would take just minutes for him to get to the airstrip, minutes that would smooth the magic inside.

Except Claudine was standing in front of the entrance. Her wide eyes stared at Steve as she clung to the helmet in her hands. “You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question. 

But Steve would still answer her. “I have to go. The magic...it wants me to fight. It’s going to keep pushing until I go.” 

Claudine nodded, stepping forward to press the helmet into his hands. “Madeira wrote protection spells on the inside of the helmet, and Catherine and I blessed your shield. It’s all we could do to keep you safe.” She rocked onto her toes to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Be safe Steve.”

“You too. Tell the girls…” Steve paused, a lump in his throat as he stared at her. She looked so young. Bright faced and tiny in the middle of this great war. “Tell them if they’re ever in need, head to Saoirse’s bar in Brooklyn. You’ll always find help there.” He couldn’t bear to stay and watch her agree. It was just easier to turn and go, rushing through the camp to get to the airfield where Peggy stood impatiently in front of the plane. 

“About time you got here!” Her voice carried easily over the propellers as she shoved him roughly into the plane. “I was starting to worry that you’d backed out.”

Steve shrugged, gently rubbing the shields polished surface. “Nah, had to say goodbye to some of the girls first.” 

A bright cackle from the pilot’s seat had Steve craning around to see a surprisingly...dapper man guiding the plane along the runway. “I bet you said goodbye, with a body like that,” he was clearly leering even if Steve couldn't see it perfectly. Peggy huffed in disgust, eyes flickering over the shield before turning away. 

Steve just smiled blandly before leaning forward, hands clasped loosely between his knees as he stared at Peggy. “Ah, see Catherine said had to lend me her knife before I left. Said a upstanding gentleman had to be ready so she wanted to help out,” he drawled, the Brooklyn easing back into his voice. Peggy blinked slowly at that, face turning carefully blank.

The pilot turned around to stare. “A showgirl lent you a knife?” 

Steve’s shrug was nice and easy. “Yeah, they’re all armed to the teeth to keep wandering hands away.” Steve cocked an eyebrow at the guy. “Shouldn’t you be...I don’t know, actually flying this thing?” The guy yelped before throwing himself around, grabbing the controls before they would have skimmed the tops off a few trees. Steve huffed as the plane rattled turning to Peggy with a small grin. “Where did you even find this guy?”

“Howard Stark is the only one mad enough to fly into enemy territory at night,” Peggy popped back. Steve just stared, mind stuttering on being flown in a plane by Stark for a second. Peggy clearly read his careful decision not to react if the corners of her mouth softening were any indication, “It’s good to see the serum has changed you much.”

A blush stole up his cheeks as Steve ducked his head. Everyone had muttered about his height, his strength, the width of his shoulders. The eyes of countless people traced over him without actually seeing, stopping on the stars and stripes before clearly deciding all Steve was good for was muscles. No one looked beneath to see the artist, the scrawny boy with a heart too big for his body. It was...nice that Peggy still remembered the mouthy punk from boot camp. 

Peggy winked at him, a quick silver smile crossing her face before she turned series once more. “Now then, do you have a plan?”

“Get in, save our boys, get out?”

“That’s a terrible plan. You have to have more than that,” Peggy scoffed. Steve just shrugged, causing her to reassess him. “Good lord. That’s really your plan?”

“Of course it’s not his plan! He’s just messing with you Peggy!” Howard’s voice drifted back to them, the man clearly unable to stay quiet any longer. Steve offered a sheepish smile for when Howard turned around, the other man’s face going slack in shock. “Seriously? That’s the plan?”

“I’m not planning on dying either, if that helps?”

Peggy huffed, nostrils flaring. “That does not help Steven. What would help is an actual idea of how you’re going to get into the factory and rescue over a hundred men.”

“Magic?”

“Steven!”

Before Steve could even start to actually defend himself, the plane shuddered. For one horrible second, it felt like the entire thing was going to just roll out of the sky. Howard cursed, a low nervous sound before the plane straightened out and continued on its flight path. His swearing had Peggy’s head turning for a brief second, which was just enough time for Steve to swing himself out of the seat and towards the open hatch, parachute in hand. 

Peggy is head whipped back to him. “Steven Grant Rogers...don’t you dare!”

“I’ll bring our boys back, Peggy. Don’t worry about that.” I’ll bring Bucky back, keep him safe and sound so no one ever hurts him again. “Just make sure no one shoots me for desertion when I show back up.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I am going to shoot you myself, you idiotic…”

And that was his cue. Pushing back against the floor of the plane, Steve threw himself free and out into the open air. Anti aircraft rounds exploded all around him but there was no reason to fear. Not when his magic was swirling brighter and hotter under his skin than it had ever been before. This was where he was supposed to be. This was his destiny, his reason for existing and it was so clear that Steve felt no fear as he pulled the chute and landed silently on enemy soil.

Deft fingers pulled him free of the chute and Steve fell still. Smoke cling to the air, coating the inside of his mouth as he just breathed it all in. Red and white light colored the sky even as he pulled a knife from the inside of his jacket. It was beautiful silver, carved with knots and little crows, ravens, and owls and a family heirloom Saoirse had given him the day he left for the tour with the firm instructions to never lose it. It held too much power to fall into the wrong hands.

Steve shut his eyes, dragging the knife quickly across his palm which split open easily. Red blood welled from the cut, dripping down to splatter against the ground. “Grandmother,” he breathed, “Aunties. I have need of your assistance.”

Silence. Except for the artillery in the distance. Just a heavy stillness that only came when truly magic slowly gathered. It felt like a storm, slowly gathering before the break that would change the entire course of the war...

“Grandson.” Badb’s voice was a gunshot in the air.

“Nephew.” Macha’s the slide of the bayonet into soft flesh.

“Steven.” Morrigan’s a death rattle of a wounded soldier. “Why have you called on us?”

Steve dropped to his knees. He held up his hands, one covered in blood the other offering the silver knife. “They have my husband. My mate.” Lips curled back in a snarl. “My Bucky.”

Macha’s head twisted owl like to study him. “You can’t save your own husband, nephew mine?” 

It was a test. A test Steve knew he would not fail. “No. I can save him myself.”

Macha shifted, shoulders rolling just like Saoirse when confused about something. Glowing green eyes flicked to Badb then back to Steve. “Then...why call us here?”

“Because they took what is mine, what belongs to our family. I don’t just want to save Bucky,” Steve snarled, war and fire lighting his veins, “I want to burn them to the ground. Destroy them all for daring to touch one hair on our loved ones head! Make them suffer for every bruise, every cut, every nightmare they forced on MY Bucky! None of them can walk from this alive, and I am only mortal. I will miss one without your help.”

Badb threw her head back and laughed, the sound of cannons and the hounds of war competing with the cawing of crows. “Oh, my Steven. Ready to declare war upon the world for yours,” she reached forward, dragging him up off the floor to knock their foreheads together. “I will grant you my strength, grandson. So you may win the fights before you and avenge the wrong done to our family.”

“I will grant my magic, to lead you to your enemy tonight. And to bring them before you like rabbits before the wolf when they hide from your storm,” Macha grinned, wicked and blood bright as she waved a hand over his palm, healing the gash. 

Morrigan pressed up against his other side, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Fear not little nephew mine, all men and women die. So they will all meet me at the end. None will escape unpunished.” Steve could not see the lines of her face through the black veil she wore, but the proud lines of her body turned sheepish. “I...am fond of your Bucky, darling. It’s rare that one declares they will fight me if I take their loved one away. And he did so as a child.”

Steve grinned brightly. “Sounds like Buck. Thank you all for your gifts and your help.” Steve quickly darted forward to press a kiss to Badb’s cheek before turning to dart into the trees to follow the pull of magic back to his Bucky. The hoot of an owl, the caw of a raven, and the caw of a crow followed him, sounds of approval and a call for war that spurned up further and further into the trees. Land disappeared under his feet as he sprinted, lungs pumping war filled air that only made him stronger. 

Steven Grant Rogers was born and bred for war. Never had that been more apparent. 

It was ridiculously easy to sneak into the factory, and after Steve knocked out a guard with his prop shield he took a quick second to whisper a thank you to Auntie Macha just in case she was helping out. Drifting through the steel corridors, Steve followed the pull of magic deeper into the place until he managed to stumble across the men of the 107th locked together in the cells. 

After dispatching the guards, Steve opened the doors letting the men out. Many of them scampered past, eyes wide as they took him in. They skirted around him, eyes flickering to his eyes and then away, clearly wary of whatever they saw in his eyes. 

One man though, in a bowler hat, actually met his eyes. “Who the hell are you?”

“Captain America,” Steve murmured, eyes flickering around, “Sergeant Barnes. Is he here?”

“They dragged him off to the labs,” a black man added, eyes jumping around but always coming back to Steve’s.

“Where are the labs?”

“Down the corridor there,” an Asian man grumbled sending a nasty glare towards bowler hat so he didn’t see whatever unnerved the others in Steve. “Not that it will do you much good. No one lasts there long.”

“He will.” Steve could feel it in his bones. Bucky was still alive. “There’s ammo and tanks near the operating floor. You’ll be able to lay down enough cover to get everyone out if there’s a big enough distraction.” Steve turned to head down the corridor. 

“What about you?” Bowler hat demanded. “How the fuck are you getting out?”

“Don’t worry about me. Focus on getting yourselves to safety,” Steve’s smile was bloodthirsty and bright, “I’ll find you when it’s all done.” And with that he was running, sprinting through the halls in the desperate search to find Bucky. 

The steel door blocking his path crumpled under his hand like tissue paper, sending him stumbling into a room that smelled of antiseptic and bad blood. Metal tables lines the floor, glinting with dried blood and discarded tools. At the very opposite end of the room a small man with round glasses stared at Steve in terror, trembling as he backed away. 

Every instinct in Steve wanted to rush the man, the magic in his blood hissing to rip and tear and kill. Muscle coiled to pounce, Steve was ready to act when a soft noise drew his attention away to a table where a man was strapped down, mumbling to himself weakly as his head tossed back and forth. 

Steve stumbled. He knew that voice, recognized the curve of the mouth and the line of the jaw. Bucky. His Bucky was there. What else could Steve do but throw himself forward to the metal table? How could he not drape himself across it to run a loving hand through sweat soaked hair when Bucky was so clearly in agony?

“Oh Buck,” Steve whispered softly, his gentle words catching Bucky’s attention and bringing it to him. 

Bucky blinked slowly, pupils huge and drugged. “Dreamin,” he mumbled, head lolling against Steve’s palm, “Sweetheart, I’m dreamin you’re here with me...not a good place for you…”

“You’re not dreaming love,” Steve murmured ripping the restraints easily from Bucky’s arms. “I’m here to get you out.”

Bucky blinked again, eyes flashing gold as they watched the restraints break free. Another blink and the gold was gone along with the drug induced haze leaving Bucky clear minded for the first time in days. “Stevie? What are you doing here?” Bucky swing off the table straight into Steve’s arms, “You were smaller when I left you.”

“Well, turns out joining the army has a lot of perks. Hold tight Buck, we have to go,” Steve gently draped Bucky’s arm over his shoulders, helping the other man hobble from the room as quickly as they could.

Steve tightened his arm around Bucky’s waist, thinking clearly for the first time since he’d landed in Europe. The buzz of magic had pulled back enough for him to process beyond the drive to go and fight and kill, letting strategy and common sense back in. It was strange though. Steve could feel the magic starting to retreat from the places where Bucky’s skin pressed against his own, cooling down the rest of his body. 

“You’re running,” Bucky murmured, awe coloring his voice, “You can breathe right now?”

“Sure can. Got all fixed up.” They took another corner as quickly as possible while the ground below them began to shake. Distant screams and gunfire’s echoed through the steel. “All my illnesses, got fixed like magic.”

“Saoirse did this?”

“An army doctor. He had some serum that made all of this.”

“It permanent?”

“So far. Why? That going to be a problem?” And it very well could be. Because the Steve Bucky had loved had been small and dainty. Easy to pick up and carry around like a dame, especially when wearing his pretty dresses and skirts. Now, Steve didn’t even want to think about how ridiculous he would possibly look running around in a dress, his hideous he would appear to Bucky now. 

Bucky just hummed, letting his head drop against the now broad shoulder. “You’re still my Stevie,” he murmured, eyes flashing gold briefly as his instincts took in the new change. 

Steve couldn’t help but smile, cheeks flushing at the simple statement. The blush turned darker red when Bucky let out a low growl, promising, “When we get out of here, I’m going to see what this new body can really do.” An embarrassed squeak left Steve as Bucky’s hand squeezed around his waist, getting a handful of new flesh that hadn’t existed the last time they laid together. It would have been enough to turn Steve’s knees weak if they hadn’t been running for their lives in a Nazi base. “James Buchanan Barnes, if you grab my ass I swear to the gods…”

Bucky’s rough laugh broke free as they stumbled out onto a catwalk above the factory floor which was slowly burning below them. Steve stumbled to a stop, eyes narrowed dangerously at the figures standing across the bridge from them. Bucky!s laugh turned into a snarl, his hand digging painfully into Steve’s hip as he tried to drag the blond back and away to safety. 

But Steve had never needed, or even wanted, safety. So although it hurt to let Bucky go, he still did to step forward to meet the smiling Schmidt (“Look out for him,” Peggy had warned while showing the picture) prowling towards them. 

“Captain America!” The name was practically purred. “I must admit I enjoy your films!”

Steve’s eyes flashed lightning blue and he swung, fist connecting hard with cheekbone and sending Schmidt stumbling back.

Schmidt blinked slowly, a hand coming up to press against his cheek. “Ah yes, the super soldier. Another of the good doctor’s experiments.” A twisted smile crossed his face. “We are not so different, you and I.”

Steve really, truly did not care. Not when it was easier to lash out with the shield. 

Except Schmidt was expecting that now, and his punch stopped the shield cold while leaving a massive dent in it. Schmidt’s other hand swung out again, forcing Steve back to keep his nose from being broken. 

“Both his experiments. Except I was his greatest success.” 

And then...then Steve watched as Schmidt started to pull. As skin stretched and ripped, clawed off hard red flesh to reveal the skull below. Steve would try to explain it later to Peggy, to the Commandos, to pretty much everyone. But he would never be able to explain the feeling of utter wrongness that he witnessed or the rise of bile at the sight of a man tearing his face off.

“Please tell me you don’t have one of those,” Bucky hissed.

Steve sent him a chiding look before focusing back on Schmidt who had apparently decided to start talking again. “You see Captain, we have left the rest of humanity behind!” Schmidt’s smile was clearly manic, even as the little worm of a man behind him pulled a lever that drew the fighting pair apart. “We have become superior to them! A more advanced race!”

Steve snarled. “If you’re so advanced, why are you running away?”

Schmidt just chuckled, a dismissive little sound even as he left them behind. Steve narrowed his eyes as he took in the new gap. The distance was not that far, he could make the jump. The magic was startling to build in him again, hissing and whispering that Steve give chase and follow, to rip into the red faced bastard until nothing was left except for a burnt husk that Steve would grind out of the world. 

Muscles tensed as Steve prepared to throw himself forward, except Bucky knew all of his tales. He knew what the tense muscles would signify, how the tilt of the blonde head to the right broadcasted that Steve was going to throw himself straight into the fray without a second thought and reached out to grab his Stevie’s now massive bicep and tug. Both of their breaths hitched at the spark of magic from the touch, Steve turning helplessly, always drawn to meet Bucky’s gaze. “We need to go,” Bucky pulled again, desperate to escape, “The place is burning down doll, we need to go now.”

Steve just nodded, reaching out to grab Bucky’s hand and drag him down the hall. They ran together above the flames, the heat creeping through their boots while making it harder to breathe as more and more ash was created by the inferno. Eventually, they managed to stumble across a steep support beam that had crashed down and connected the catwalk to the one that led out of the factory. 

“Thanks it, our way out,” Steve breathed out as they stumbled to a stop before it. 

Bucky though did not seem pleased. “You really think that thing is going to hold our weight?”

“I think it will if you stop talking about it and move your ass,” Steve snapped pushing Bucky onto the beam, uncaring of the dirty look Bucky sent at him. Still, even though he was sure Bucky would make it safely (there was no other option, Bucky had to be fine or Steve would die) Steve couldn’t help but squeeze the railing hard enough it bent as he watched each step by nervous step as Bucky got closer to the edge. The pained groans of the beam did not help with Steve’s nerves. Each creak and groan threatening to send Bucky plummeting down into the fire. 

A particularly pound groan was the only warning they were given when the beam decided to give out. Steve screamed as Bucky threw himself forward, terrified that Bucky would slip and fall. But luckily Bucky was able to scramble onto the catwalk and away from the fires. His face may have been smeared by soot, and his hair wild, but Bucky had never looked more beautiful than right then. 

Even if Bucky did look terrified, “Stevie…”

“There’s got to be another way out,” Steve smiled weakly, “If I just look quickly enough…”

Bucky snarled, his eyes flashing gold. “You expect me to leave you here?”

“Yes, I do! You have time to get out! I’ll catch up!”

“Like hell! I am not leaving you here!”

“Yes you are! You need to go, meet up with the rest of the men!”

“Not without you!” Bucky’s expression crumpled, “You can’t possibly expect me to walk out without my best guy.”

And really, how could Steve turn away when his love looked so broken at the thought of being left behind? So Steve gathered his new strength, given to him by science and magic and threw himself across the flames. Fingers clamped onto the metal railing even as his feet scrambled to find purchase. The railing let out an agonized groan, weakened by the heat and not holding up well against Steve’s weight and any moment it would break and send him falling…

Or it would have if Bucky had lunged forward with glowing golden eyes to drag Steve up and over the railing and into a tight embrace. Steve collapsed into the hold, clinging tightly to Bucky’s waist even as a strong hand pressed his cheek into Bucky’s neck. “God doll,” Bucky clung tighter, and Steve just knew the gold was still present in his eyes, “Nearly lost you.”

“But you didn’t. And you won’t as long as we keep moving.” It hurt to pull away from Bucky, but Steve knew he needed to. They still weren’t safe. Not when they were trapped in a burning factory. “We need to keep moving. We’re not out of here yet.” Hands still clasped together, they took off at a run again. Bucky was the one who took the lead, tugging Steve around the turns of the factory until they managed to get out into the open air. 

Which was still filled with dust and smoke and ash as they stumbled out into a firefight. Allied soldiers and Hydra were locked in combat. Gunfire and screams rang through the air as men fought each other in front of the burning factory, each side trying to overpower the other. 

Bucky squeezed Steve's hand tighter. A quick glance revealed that his Bucky looked hopelessly terrified in the burning light. “Fuck,” Bucky turned to Steve in deseraption, “How am I supposed to keep you safe in all of this?”

“You don’t.” Steve couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t a particularly nice smile, far more cruel and bloodthirsty than any other smile he’d worn, but it crossed his face easily. “This is where I was always supposed to be.” Steve threw himself forward into the fight, lashing out with his shield to knock the nearest Hydra soldier to the ground in an unmoving heap. The next soldier was taken out with a hard hit to the chin, the one after that had his neck snapped. The soldier after him was just a blur, all of the rest of them were a giant blur of breaking bone and spraying blood. He was aware that Bucky was with him, fighting by his side with the lethal grace of a predator. Their bloody dance tore a path through Hydra leaving the remaining soldiers shattered in his wake. The Allied soldiers rallied around them with screams for victory and bloody smiles as they slowly fought their way to get to freedom. It was a crawl, sure. But as the dawn began to break across the trees they managed. 

As mornings light fell across the land in front of the factory, Steve’s soldiers stood victorious. Cheers broke out around from the men as they finally found themselves free, saved from the slow agonizing torture of the Hydra prisons. In the midst of the laughter and relieved tears Steve stood still. With his head tipped back to greet the rising sun, Steve couldn’t stop smiling. Not with victory pumping through his veins.

Bucky was still by his side, eyes no lager gold but still darting nervously around the area to look for more hidden threats. “We’re still behind enemy lines.”

“Yes.”

“Hydra is going to come back Stevie. They’ll take us back,”

“No they won’t.” Steve let his head fall forward so he could meet Bucky’s eyes, his own shining unnaturally blue, “I won’t let them touch you again.”

A small smile crossed Bucky’s face. “Don’t think they’re listening to you.”

“They will. Eventually they’ll get the message.” Steve wanted so badly to reach out and touch his Bucky, to run his hands through his hair and kiss him and just rest together. But they couldn’t yet. Not when they needed to get as far away from this place as possible. “Right, we need to get moving. The sooner we move out the better.”

Bucky sighed, turning to look at the disorganized mess that was the soldiers running around trying to figure out what to do next. “And where are we headed?”

“We’re going to head back towards base. It should be about a two day walk with the injured,” Steve sighed before turning away to look at the soldiers. “They have no idea what they’re doing, do they?”

Bucky huffed out something that could potentially be called a laugh. “Yeah, all the commanding officers are dead. They were the first ones killed. So now there’s a whole bunch with ideas on what needs to happen next but no one to actually tell them what to do or where to go. It’ll be like herding cats.”

“I’ve always been rather good at that.” Steve grinned brightly, “And it does look like I’m the highest ranking officer now.”

“What are you on about?”

“Didn’t I mention Buck? I’m a captain now. And I guess that makes it my job to herd these cats.” With that Steve stepped away from Bucky and turned back to the chaos of panicked men in front of him. He could still feel the battle under his skin, the magic of war still twisting in his muscle and bone to drive him even further forward. But there was no reason for the magic to keep him going, not right now. He’d saved Bucky, he’d saved four hundred men and the job should be done. 

Except...it couldn’t be done yet. The job wasn’t finished until all of his soldiers made it home safe and they hadn’t made it back yet. So Steve just had to reach into his soul and yank on the magic to pull it around his shoulders. It settled like a cloak, power and rank capturing every soldiers eyes as he strode further into the dawn. “We need to get moving if we’re going to make it back.” His voice carried to the furthest points of the factory yard. “Get the wounded and the sick on the trucks. Whoever can pilot the tanks, take those with us as well. Gather what weapons you can, we move out in thirty minutes.” The men just stared, blank faced at him. Steve drew the power tighter. “Go. Now.” And then they did.

The soldiers jumped to action as they carted the sick and the wounded up on the trucks. Guns were passed around as the disorganized mess fell into neat lines, the soldiers forming rank as they prepared for the march back to camp. And as it happened, Steve couldn’t help but glance up at the sky one last time before the march back to base. 

A crow was flying over head, making lazy circles in the air. Looked like great grandmother was watching him still. Steve couldn’t help but grin. 

A well known hand reached out and grabbed his. “Stevie?”

“Nothing to worry about Buck. Just some family saying hi.” Steve tangled their fingers together briefly, knowing eyes would be on them soon. But just a moment was alright. All he needed was a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each of the magical creatures in the US was based off the demographics of the people who lived there in the 40s. Like in SoCal there’s a big Aremenian population so I included that (and similar with the other ones).
> 
> The reason why Steve didn’t ask his aunts for help in the fight with Hydra is because I was always taught you don’t do that with the face. You can ask for their favor, but you do not ask them for help because then they have something over you. So Steve’s getting the supernatural version of a blessing but not putting himself in their debt cause he’s smart.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter, we get a bit of the boys going to war. I purposefully decided not to spend too much time here, mostly because I knew I’d be sucked in and never escape. So there’s a bit more world building and some more magical interaction here. 
> 
> There is one scene that could be seen as offensive because of the 40s language in it. I chose to include it because one of my students asked me a question along that line when I taught WWII years ago so this is my personal shout out to that demon child. Hope you enjoy.

Bright laughter and cheers filled the smoky air of the bar. Drunken songs were crooned by cheerful men who were so glad to be alive, so damn happy to just be able to exist and live in another moment. The air of relief was clear from their smiling faces even as they half listened for an air raid siren to go off ending the festivities (or more likely sending the party underground). And there was good reason for them to party right then, seeing how the man who had saved them was seated happily in the bar speaking gently to each bashful soldier who approached him. It was a sight to behold, the sweet smile and patient ear that was open to everyone who approached the back table to meet and greet Captain America himself. 

And there was a part of Bucky that wanted to go over there as well. Wanted to fall to his knees and press his face into the meat of the thigh and just breathe in the scent of safety and security. Except that Bucky didn’t want to press up against Captain America. No, let the soldiers keep the icon and the hero. Bucky wanted his Stevie. Wanted to crawl inside Steve’s skin and just exist together, as one being, safe from the war and the death and the pain. That was all Bucky really wanted right now. 

But there were appearances that must be kept, especially for the new hero of the hour. So Bucky stayed back, lurking by the bar even as he greedily drunk in the sight of his beautiful Stevie shining in the light as he laughed and joked with the survivors from the factory. Most of them were men from Bucky’s unit, good men who he trusted with his life, but the thought of going over there and being social just….itched right then. It made his skin crawl when all he wanted to do was curl away from the rest of the world. 

Turning away from the beautiful sight of his Steve, Bucky waved for another drink the bartender. Shoulder hunched when the sound of breaking glass and harsh laughter came from behind, leaving Bucky hunched over the bar staring at the stained wood with desperation. It was all so much. He just wanted to go rest, to get away from the smoke for a second….

Steve's hands, the only things that hadn’t changed appeared next to his. A clever pinky wrapping around his own in a quiet moment of comfort. “Hey, how are you holding up?” Steve sounded so worried, and a quick glance to the side revealed he looked equally worried with that stubborn crease between his brows that Bucky always wanted to soothe away. 

But this wasn’t the place to do so. So instead Bucky just smiled wryly, “I’m fine, don’t be worrying about me.” There was a particularly loud cheer from one particular table that Bucky recognized. “That’s the crack team you want? That bunch of idiots?”

Steve nudged him, prompting Bucky to look up into a bright sunshine filled smile. “What can I say Buck? They’ve grown on me.” The blinding smile faded into something soft. “But no one will ever be quite as good as getting me out of trouble as you.”

Bucky nudged a broad shoulder, soaking in the warmth that poured out of his best guy now. “That an invitation for me to watch your six out there?”

Steve’s smile disappeared to be replaced with a worried frown. “You don’t have to come with me,” Steve murmured, their heads bent together over the beer. “You’ e done enough Buck, you don’t have to throw yourself back into a war. You can go back home, you'd never have to deal with Hydra again.”

“And leave you all alone? Not a chance in hell.” Bucky pulled back, eyes hooded as he studied the bar in front of them again. It was slowly driving him mad the amount of people around them, anyone of them could be a threat and they were pressed up against everything. “You going to keep that costume they had you in?”

“I might. It’s starting to grow on me.” Steve nudged his shoulder again, letting Bucky sway easily with the motion. An easy retort was on the tip of his tongue, ready to slide off and make Steve laugh, when the whole bar went silent. The music ground to a stop, the singing stuttered out as every hair on the back of Bucky’s neck stood on end. There was a threat there, a clear and present threat that made it so easy for Bucky to turn and put himself in front of Steve, ready to defend his boy from any threat that walked towards them. 

Except there wasn’t a real threat. Not like the ones back in Brooklyn, the bullies and the mobsters or on the front with uniformed soldiers. Instead it was the woman from the camp, the one with the pretty smile that had made eyes at Steve after the march back from the factory. She was drop dead gorgeous in a pretty red number, strutting towards them like sin with a smirk on ruby red lips. And she was making eyes at his Stevie.

Bucky hated her on sight. Especially because every time she smiled at Steve, he blushed and smiled back. No one but he should be making Steve blush like that. 

Carter stepped closer to Steve. “Captain. I see your top crew is getting ready to go.”

Bucky just had to get her eyes off of Steve. It was so easy to shift his weight and grab her attention. “What, you not fond of dancing?”

Or it should have been that easy. It always had been that simple in Brooklyn when the few intelligent ones locked their eyes on his boy. The flex of a shoulder, an easy grin, and they were eating out of the palm of his hand. Except Peggy Carter was made of stronger stuff than those girls were because she never took her eyes off of Steve. “I’m not opposed to dancing,” her eyes were filled with wicked promise. 

“Well then, what are we waiting for?” It took all of his power not to snarl. 

“The right partner,” she reached out to gently pat Steve’s shoulder and Bucky had to grab the bar to keep from breaking her wrist. “Oh eight hundred Captain. Don’t be late.” 

Bucky huffed, glaring after her retreating form. “I’m invisible. I’ve turned into you, this is terrible.” He was hoping that would cause Steve to laugh or smile or something. But Steve wasn’t smiling at him. Instead he just looked pensive as he watched Bucky with those too blue eyes. “Steve?”

“We’re leaving,” Steve announced, pulling away from the bar. 

Bucky pushed away as well. “Right now? Can I at least finish my beer?”

“No. I’ll get you another later on,” Steve waved his hand absently, “Come on.” And what else could he do but follow after Steve? Leave behind the renewed cheer and merriment to follow Steve out onto deserted streets. 

Steve wandered through the streets, following a direction only he seemed to know. Bucky looked up, wondering if Steve was following a crow over head but couldn’t see anything through the smog. Not that it seemed to bother Steve any. Gone was the raspy wheeze that came from too much smoke, replaced with an easy stride that wouldn’t falter for hours if it came to it. 

True to this new form, Steve didn’t falter as he led them deeper and deeper into the city. Over cobbled streets and past empty, bombed out shops, and far out of the reach of the street lights into the shady darkness where good boys and girls did not dare to venture. That’s where Steve led him with confidence until they were so far from the bar and the military base that no one would ever find them again. 

Only then did Steve reach out, grabbing Bucky’s uniform and shoving him hard up against the wall. “Steve,” Bucky gasped out, stunned at the new strength once again. 

Steve didn’t give him time to talk, didn’t allow Bucky to regain his thoughts. The second flesh hit brick, Steve was lunging forward into a messy kiss that was all teeth and tongue and passion. Artists hands let go of Bucky’s uniform to press against his face, cradling him as the kiss became filthy. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulder, pressing up against him as his lungs started to hurt from the lack of oxygen. 

Steve pulled back soon after the start of the ache, but not before pressing a messy wet kiss against Bucky’s jaw. “Do you know what I did, when I heard your unit had been taken?”

Bucky’s head lolled back against the brick as Steve started sucking kisses onto his neck. “Came running in like an idiot without a real plan of the off shot that I was still alive?”

“I vowed to burn Hydra to the ground, to leave no survivors left when I was finished.” Steve rolled his hips forward making Bucky groan in response. “I called down my great grandmother and her sisters and they witnessed my vow...they’ve agreed to help me kill them all.” Steve moved up to nuzzle against his cheek. “If I could have gotten your great grandfather there as well, I would have. I would destroy everything to keep you safe.”

Bucky grabbed the back of Steve’s neck, pulling him over for another kiss. “And you think I wouldn't do the same?”

“Oh, I know you would. My love.” Another kiss. “My darling husband, mine in the eyes of magic.” Steve sighed happily as his hips rolled forward again. “How could,d you ever think I would stray from you?”

“What’re you on about doll?” Bucky pulled back, painful as it was, squinting suspiciously at Steve. 

Steve huffed, letting his forehead rest against Bucky’s. A coy smile crossed his face and Bucky just wanted to lick it off. “You saw Peggy looking at me, and thought I wanted her back.” He darted forward for a quick kiss. “But how could I want anyone else when I have you?”

“But you were looking,” Bucky huffed, free hand dragging Steve’s hips into his. “You had that sweet smile on your face, the smile that’s supposed to be all mine but you gave it to her.”

“You were looking too, so don’t you sass me about that Barnes. Besides,” Steve looked shy all of a sudden. “I was admiring her dress.”

Bucky’s hand paused from where it had been kneeling Steve’s hip. He watched Steve squirm in embarrassment, hiding his face in Bucky’s shoulder to escape that gaze. Because Bucky knew why Steve would be admiring a dress as pretty as Carter’s. Knew that Steve was wondering what it would be like to put on that pretty red number, to be Bucky’s girl again like he hadn’t been in so long. And he also knew Steve would be feeling so guilty for wanting that, for some reason thinking he didn’t deserve to have that right joy anymore when there was a war on. It was so like Steve's martyr complex that Bucky wanted to shake him and cry at the same time. 

But instead he just pulled closer, nuzzling into blonde hair so he could murmur into Steve’s ear. “You know I’d love to see you in the dress spread out on my bed. Just like I’d love to have you in the uniform of yours, or even with nothing on at all.” Bucky grinned at the thought. “Actually, let’s just go with nothing at all? How’s that sound doll?”

Steve let out a breathy little laugh, tilting his head for a kiss. “We both know I’m a sure thing for you Buck.” Steve stole another sweet kiss. “Always have been and always will be.”

Bucky chuckled even as he pulled back to draw Steve away from the wall. “As long as it’s only for me, I’m fine with that. Now let’s get you home.” 

Steve just went along, snuggling in close as Bucky held his waist tightly. His boy was so trusting, so happy to walk through the back alleys all snuggled together. It was so cute that Bucky’s couldn't help but turn to press a kiss to Steve’s cheek (before the damn serum, it would have been the top of his head) and tugging Steve in close unit, their sides were pressed up against each other. 

“I’ll wear my dresses again,” Steve whispered into the gloom, “Once the war is done and we’re home again, I’ll get the dresses back out.”

Bucky hummed at that. “We’ll need to get you new dresses and shoes that fit.” A grin spread across his face at the thought. “I’ll get to spoil you rotten. Get you the prettiest and best things.” It would be something wonderful to ponder at night, a bright dream in the middle of a war. A comfort on the nights he wasn’t allowed to reach over and touch Steve, separated by duty when his sweet boy was so close but so far. 

But some days that dream was harder to hold onto. Specifically the days when he wanted to reach out and wring Steve’s stupid neck for being a reckless idiot who didn't worry about his own safety enough. The says when Steve gets that gleam in his eyes, the one that promises chaos left in his wake and Bucky despairs because this is their best of hope of ending the war? Really?

And he is so thankful the rest of the Commandos seem to be on his side of the whole mess, despairing of Steve’s recklessness even as they follow him further and further into battle. But it took them longer to realize that part of Steve’s utter….Steveness came from magic instead of just plain stubbornness. However, they did manage to reach that realization. 

It happened in Italy, deep in the woods six months after Steve saved them from Azzano. They were pushing their way north, looking for another Hydra base that was somewhere in the area but just couldn’t find. They’d been waking for a week now in the same track of forest and tempers were starting to wear thin. Steve had already had to pull Dum Dum and Morita off each other two days before when their normal teasing turned nasty after lunch. Monty, Gabe, and Dernier hadn’t gotten to that point, but their tempers were wearing thin and it was just a matter of time. 

Bucky hadn’t been able to see it coming, too busy feeling like something was coming for them, was watching him, was a threat to his mate. The dragon was railing under his skin, wanting to get out and hunt and kill and tear limb from limb to keep Steve safe and sound from whatever was out there. He’d spent the last several nights unable to sleep from the magic and it was making him extra twitchy. He just wanted to get out of these woods.

“We passed those trees before,” Morita muttered darkly. 

Dum Dum snarled, “We did not!”

“Yes! We did! We’ve been going around in circles!”

“That shouldn’t be possible,” Monty had never sounded so mournful, “We’ve been walking in a straight line this whole time.”

“And yet, here we are. Passing the same trees again. For the third time.” Morita’s disgust was practically a physical thing and if Bucky had been less exhausted wary he’d be cracking jokes to get their spirits up. But he wasn’t a belt to.

There’s something about being lost in forests that makes the primal part of your brain perk up in fear. An evolutionary trait humans never grow out of, a fear of straying to far off the forest path and into the maw of monsters. 

“Morita is right. Those are the same trees,” Steve snarled. Actually snarled, rage and aggression coming out in a primal noise that had Bucky watching him nervously, nervous about what Steve would do. “Stevie, what’s wrong?”

Steve though was staring at the trees around them with suspicious eyes. Glowing blue eyes, eyes filled with crackling magic that had been present since he’d stepped onto European soil but had never been so very present to the others as it was then. 

“Merde,” Dernier whispered, taking a half step away from Steve when he saw his eyes reaching out to grab Gabe’s sleeve, “Ce qui ne va pas avec ses yeux…” Gabe didn’t say anything, just stared at Steve's eyes, face pale and hands starting to shake. (It’s the littlest things that are unnerving, the smallest hints that someone isn’t truly human that cause the most terror. Because everything else is right, except that one thing that screams wrongwrongwrong and it just scares people more.)

“Something’s watching us.” Steve scowled, looking up but the damage was done. The Commandos were still staring at him in horror and Bucky was getting the sinking feeling in his gut that this Ali,d end badly. “Something in the trees.”

Morita was watching Steve with narrowed eyes. There was fear, but also an understanding in his eyes that was missing from the others. “You think it’s Hydra Cap?” Bucky could kiss him for getting them back on track.

And kill Steve for ruining the small spark of normalcy Morita had brought back to them. 

“It’s something ancient. Something older than Hydra is watching us and it’s going to come out.” Steve spit, rage clear on the lines of his face and suddenly Bucky could see. The strong lines of a warrior's body, the noble shape of flashing eyes and the light glow of the tattoo on a broad wrist. Steve had never looked more like the descendant of a war goddess than he did right there. “You will come out. Now.”

The trees shook around them, quivering even though there was no breeze. Magic sparked through the air and Bucky could taste ozone in his tongue.

Steve turned, his broad back shielding them as he stepped forward, voice cracking with command and a slight Irish burr. “Three times I command you, show yourself! Now!”

The trees whipped up in a fury before them, lashing back and forth as something seemed to be wiggling it’s way down the inside of the tree where there had been nothing before. The lump clawed it’s way out above the roots, somehow clawing forward to meet them while leaving the wood unharmed in its wake. Small, hunched and grey, it was distinctly inhuman with bulging orange eyes and serrated teeth as it watched them all with suspicion. 

“Name yourself,” Steve order and the creature snapped its teeth in agitation but that did nothing to move Steve. Bucky couldn’t see Steve’s face, but just knew it would look carved from stone. “Do not test me creature. I am Clan Catha and you stand on a field of battle, you know what I can do to you. Name. Yourself.”

The creature hissed, recoiling back away from Steve, “Kobalos, kobalos, I name myself! No need for you to bring war here, no need to fight when I can just go…”

“Why are you here?” Steve demanded.

The kobalos scowled at him. “It is my forest…”

“Why are you in this war? Why are you hiding Hydra? The soldiers with the red signals?”

“They leave offerings like the old days. Sacrifices for us to eat, all the forgotten spirits and gods who walk the land,” the kobalos shrugged, “We protect them due to their gifts.”

“Sacrifices?” Dum Dum hissed, “What sacrifices?”

“Dead bodies probably,” Monty muttered, voice dark and haunted, “That thing are eating the people Hydra kills and leaves behind…”

Bile rose in Bucky’s throat at the thought. The idea that if he’d died in Azzano and Hydra dumped his corpse that...that thing would have eaten him. Had probably eaten the remains of Zola’s failed experiments. 

“Fuck.”

“Those aren’t sacrifices, those are casualties of war,” Steve snarled sending the kobalos scurrying backwards in fear of whatever it saw on Steve’s face, “Those are Soldiers, good men who should be laid to rest! Left to rot by and enemy that fights without honor or dignity! My enemy!” Steve seemed to grow in front of them, a hero from old myth come to light, “I have sworn to fight every last one, my clan stands behind me. Defend them, hide them, and Clan Catha will see that as a declaration of war as well. Take the news and spread it to your kin and allies. This is your only warning.”

The kobalos shrieked, twisting in a way that made Bucky’s stomach churn to look at before it disappeared into nothing leaving just the trees behind. An empty clearing, and Steve who shrunk before their eyes back into a normal man. Or as normal as a super soldier could get. 

“Cap,” Gabe whispered. 

“We won’t get lost anymore, the way so clear to the base,” Steve shifted his shield refusing to look back at them.

“Cap, seriously. What the fuck just happened?”

“After we take the base. I’ll explain tonight once we’ve won,” Steve’s hands were shaking, just a small tremble but it was enough Bucky wanted to reach out and just hold them. But he couldn’t do that, not now. 

He could get them moving though. “Steve’s right. We need to end the mission. I don’t want Hydra to find us seeing how we’ve been walking around for a week like idiots.” And that seemed to settle that, at least for now. The discussion about magic was stowed as they started their walk again, and this time when the passed those fucking trees they managed to find the base within thirty minutes.

The fight was quick and easy, their fastest clearing of a base ever. And Bucky would have been nervous about it being a trap but he saw small grey forms tripping Judra soldiers and jamming their guns. He didn’t know what to think about it, that the creature that had been messing with him was helping now, 

(Didn’t want to think that it was probably helping because it was scared of Steve.)

Steve didn't say anything when the battle finished. He just looked old and weary standing in the ruins of the base, surrounded by the dead agents who refused to surrender and left no survivors to become POWs. No one wanted to make him talk then, especially not on the hike back to the main camp with Bucky hovering at his shoulder with worried eyes.

Steve was left to brew in silence as they set up camp when the sun dropped below the horizon. He just slumped forward on the ground, exhausted lines now clear as he rested his head in his hands while everyone else puttered around him. Dernier nervous looks turned worried as he set up the fire, Gabe’s comments becoming more familiar as he pressed a plate of food into Steve’s hands. Bucky sat curled up against Steve’s side, offering a smidge of comfort in this unforgiving war. 

Only when everyone was settled around the fire did Steve actually start to talk. 

“So. In case you haven’t figured it out yet,” Steve’s dry voice cut all conversation off. “Magic is real.”

Uneasy silence fell back over the men. It was unnerving, so unlike most of their nights around a campfire that Bucky could feel himself tensing even when Steve was loose with exhaustion. 

Dum Dum was the first one to speak (of course). “What was that grey thing?”

“Some fort of goblin I guess. Probably a Greco-Roman type. Seems like everyone had their own version of goblin.” Steve said picking at his food while everyone else ignored their own portions. 

Gabe was the next to speak, even as his fingers picked at his pack strap. “You didn’t actually know what it was, did you? That’s why you told it to say it’s name?”

Steve smiled faintly. “Yeah, pretty much. I learned from my Ma that if you tell a magical creature something three times, it has to comply and answer your questions. And I figured that I know enough about magical creatures that I could deal with it once I learned what its name was.”

Bucky frowned at that. “When did you learn enough about magical creatures to do that?” Because they grew up on Romanian and Irish stories, everything else had been unknown.

“During the Captain America tour, I ran into a lot of magical creatures then and they told me a lot of information,” Steve just shrugged at Bucky's glare. “My cousin told me to learn and make allies, so I did. She’s never led me wrong before.”

Bucky huffed, “She got you arrested. Twice.” Steve, the damn punk, just rolled his eyes at that. 

Monty though did not look at all comforted by the information. “This is still insane. Magic and monsters...it’s bad enough that we seem to be in a comic book but this is just!”

“It’s not too much of a stretch,” Morita grumbled crossly staring into the fire, “Our lives are crazy enough as it is with super soldiers and Hydra. Magic is just part of the course.”

“No, it isn't,” Dum Dum snapped back, “That goblin thing wanted to eat people! There’s monsters eating people and we’re just supposed to be alright with this!”

“No, but we got magic on our side,” Morita fired back staring at Steve with guarded eyes, “Don’t we Cap?”

Steve was quiet for a very long moment before whispering, “Yes.”

Morita nodded, eyes softening a bit as he settled back down, still refusing to look at the others as he talked. “There’s monsters, but Cap’s got some crazy magic on his side and that’ll keep us safe as possible. He found that dam goblin thing and saved our asses.” The other Commandos loudly began protesting, and Bucky would have been worried if he thought they were protesting Steve and his help. But no, they were still protesting the existence of magic which was bad enough on its own. 

And all it really seemed to do was piss Morita off until he snapped at them to shut the fuck up and let him talk, god damn it. “There’s always been magic whether you wanted to admit it or not, so pretending it doesn’t exist won’t help!” Morita ground out, clearly done with the conversation as seething eyes washed over them, “You learn and call on the guardian spirits and the creatures fond of people and hope they help.” In the quiet of the camp, Morita’s voice seemed to ring through the air itself. “My family’s been interned by the government. We lost our home, our business, everything. But we haven’t been hurt or gotten sick when it would be so easy and thanks cause the four guardian spirits are watching over us. They patrol the camps and keep us safe, I’ve seen them. And I’m guessing Cap’s some kind of guardian spirit too.”

Steve didn’t answer, just stared at Morita with those too blue eyes that saw so damned much. So it was up to Bucky to salvage the situation. “Nah, Stevie’s not a guardian spirit. His great grandma is a goddess.”

“A goddess?” Dum Dum squawked. “Catha,” Monty whispered, eyes wide, “The creature called you Catha…”

That finally got Steve to talk. “Yeah, my ancestor was Badb Catha. She’s a war goddess,” a wry smile crossed Steve’s face, “And one of the guardians of Ireland, so I guess there’s a little bit of guardian spirit in there as well. But mostly just war.”

“It’s why Stevie here fights anything that moves,” Bucky added, the lighthearted teasing meant to break the uncomfortable silence, “It’s genetic.” And that certainly did the trick as a new lightness returned back to the Commandos camp. Good natured teasing cropped up at how they all just knew that Cap’s gung-ho attitude had to come from some supernatural source. Dernier was the one who elbowed Steve in the side and asked if he could grant blessings, which Steve blandly said he could in the form of a kiss to laughter and jeers as they finally tucked in to their food and just relaxed. 

It could have gone so much worse, Bucky realized as he just grinned at the men as they loudly claimed Dum Dum’s mustache had to be magic to survive this long. Their men could have turned in Steve, killed him for being a witch and left Bucky alone in a world without the love of his life. But they didn’t. They accepted it, and moved on and things would get better from here on out (what else would they accept, a small part of Bucky wondered that night). Steve would never have to hide being magic again, and neither would Bucky. They could finally live out in the open with their boys. 

Even if their boys were idiots who had no idea how magic really worked. And questioned it at every possible time. Like when Gabe leaned over to Bucky in the middle of a debriefing and muttered, “The boys and I wondered, do you have magic too?”

Bucky would have ignored him, except Carter was there making doe eyes at Steve and Bucky needed the distraction not to kill her. “Yeah, mine’s not as strong as Steve’s but it’s there.”

“Oh. What type of magic is it?”

“I’m descended from the House of Dracul.” Gabe just nodded and after the meeting when they were in the mess hall asked Monty (the best educated, being a freaking lord! How the hell did he end up on the front lines with them?) and the damn Brit spilled the beans about Dracula which of course led to the boys losing their collective minds about how cool it was once Bucky promised them he did NOT drink blood. 

(“You do have a fascinations with necks,” Steve teased with a sly smile that night as they snuggled together on two cots shoved together in their shared tent, “Sure it’s not the vampire in you?”

“Pretty sure it’s because you shut the hell up when I bite you there you damn punk.”)

Dum Dum and Morita were convinced right after that Peggy was obviously a witch. A good with, like Glinda, but still terrifying in her own right and capable of casting a spell on them. It took Steve two weeks to convince them that no, Peggy was not a witch she was just a badass before they stopped looking terrified of her every time she so much as breathed in their direction. And even then it only stopped when Steve loudly announced on a mission that he was related to an actual witch, thank you very much, so he would know.

Which then turned into a lesson led by Steve on how to identify good witches versus bad witches as they marched through the woods. And also had the added benefit of Steve telling Saoirse about the whole thing in a letter and her responding with a bunch of good luck charms for them to wear and use. Seriously, there was a reason why the Howling Commandos had the highest mission success rate of any arm team. Only part of it came down to skill, a lot more came from charms spelled to deflect bullets and protect you from all harm.

And as Bucky watched, the other Commandos got more and more comfortable with magic. They no longer tensed up when Steve’s eyes glowed at the start of a fight, or flinched when Steve spoke with all the power of a war god behind his words. By the time Bucky lost control of his magical powers and his eyes flashed gold in a firefight that was getting far too close to Steve for comfort, no one even reacted. Monty just mentioned it, Dum Dum made a vampire joke, and they moved the fuck on like this was the new normal.

And each time no one freaked out over magic Steve relaxed a little more. He hadn’t reverted back to that terrifying figure from the forest again which Bucky was so thankful for. He never wanted to hear Steve sound quite so cold ever again. He just wanted Steve to be nice and happy as he smiled that pretty grin all for Bucky out of the light of the campfire before they traded slow kisses that promised love and safety no matter what came for them on the battlefield. 

So it really shouldn’t have been a surprise for Bucky when one night when they were necking one of the Commandos stumbled across them. It really wasn’t that bad, Bucky just had Steve pressed up against a tree, long legs framing Bucky’s hips as they traded heavy kiss while Bucky snuck a hand in Steve’s uniform top. It had been two days since Bucky last got Steve alone and he was not going to waste this opportunity. Or at least that would be his excuse until his dying day.

“Captain, just wanted to give you and the Sergeant a heads up that dinner...oh. Oh! Yes, I’ll see you back at camp.” 

Steve reared back in surprise, cracking his skull against the trees with a pained whine. Bucky, who had originally been freaking out about being caught necking with Steve, quickly honed into the pained sound and began fussing. “Shit, Stevie doll are you alright?” He ran his hand over the back of Steve’s head checking for bruises. “If you managed to give yourself a concussion again…”

“I’m fine, seriously Bucky I’m fine,” Steve pressed a soothing kiss to his jaw before struggling to detangle himself, “I’m more worried about Monty, looked like he was going to faint catching us.”

“Well then, he shouldn’t have been looking for you if he didn’t want to get a view,” Bucky groused even as he let Steve slide off of his body and back onto shaky feet. “This is going to end badly.”

“No, it really won’t,” Steve pressed another quick kiss to his jaw before starting back towards the camp, “They’re our boys, they won’t ever turn on us.”

“Magic is one thing. This…”

“Is just as much a part of us as magic is. It’ll be fine.” And of course Steve was so self assured on that, even if every instinct in Bucky’s body was yelling and him to take Steve’s hand and just run for it, go and never look back until the could settle somewhere safer. Somewhere the dragon would settle in the knowledge its mate was safely out of danger they it had not been able to do since they reunited in that damn factory. 

But just like always, Bucky took those instincts and pushed them down to follow his best guy back into the fray because he trusted his love to know what to do. (The instincts were pushed down but not ignored. The Commandos could become a threat to him and Steve, and Bucky could not allow that to happen. He did not want to, but he was prepared to defend his mate to the death if he had too.) So Bucky followed behind as Steve led him back into the camp where the Commandos waited. 

Well, waited was the wrong way to explain it. The lot of them were staring very determined at Dum Dum who a ferocious scowl on his face. A scowl that just grew when Bucky threw himself to the ground next to Steve. So just one of them had a problem with them being together, Bucky mused. Not great, he’d been hoping Steve was right, but manageable. 

Dum Dum leaned forward, eyes dark in the firelight, “I have some questions.”

Month let out a low groan, curling into himself while Gabe adopted the long suffering look he wore too often around them. Dernier was muttering darkly under his breath, too quiet to be heard over Morita’s snarled, “Shut up” so Bucky could only guess as to what the Frenchman was thinking.

Since Bucky was watching them all, it was Steve who decided to start the conversation. “I’ll answer what I can, alright?”

“Yeah, sure, just. You and Sarge. Are together.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed slightly, just the smallest sign of his nerves only Bucky noticed. “Yeah.”

“Right. Got it,” Dum Dum nodded, “And you both have magic.”

“Yeah…”

“Is that why you call yourselves that then?”

Bucky and Steve shared a confused look as the other Commandos let out pained groans at the question. “Call ourselves what,” Steve asked slowly. 

“Fairies. Is the magic thing why you’re called fairies?” 

What the fuck. Bucky could only gape like an idiot, staring blankly at Dum Dum who was still staring back at the, with steely determination of someone truly convinced they were asking an important question. “No Dum Dum, that’s not the reason why,” Bucky managed to get out. 

Dum Dum just huffed at them in annoyance. “Well How was I supposed to know? There’s gods and magic now, how was I supposed to know that wasn’t a thing either?”

“Cause only an idiot would think that,” Morita snapped back causing Dum Dum to squawk in outrage. 

Bucky just shook his head in disbelief. “That's seriously what you wanted to ask?”

“That’s what Dum Dum wanted to ask,” Monty clarified dryly, “I got all my answers earlier this evening, thank you.” Bucky refused to blush at the insinuation, he refused. His cheeks were not matching Steve’s glowing embarrassment, no sir. 

“So, you’re all fine with this?” Steve asked. 

Gabe rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. “Cap, you guys were pretty obvious. What with the sighing and gazing at each other all the time.”

“C'est adorable,” Dernier cooed and Bucky knew enough French to get the picture and scowl at the grinning man. He was not adorable, and he never would be. Steve was the cute one, Bucky was the fierce one. 

But still, it was nice to be accepted as everything he was by their team. It was even nicer not to hide, so Bucky wasted no time before holding Steveks hand to the delighted cheers of the rest of the Commandos. Looked like everything was working out for them now, Bucky mused as he grinned back at Steve’s beaming face. Now if only there was no more war, then it would be perfect. 

(“I’d be more fine with this whole mess if Dum Dum was less of an idiot.”

“Morita, I swear to god…”

“Your both going to cool it if you don’t want me to come over there!”

“Sorry Cap.” “Yes sir.”)

But there is a war going on, and it’s...it’s weird, alright? It’s fucking strange because there’s magic and monsters and they’re all just stumbling blind through the whole damn mess. Bucky keeps tripping along behind Steve, watching as the blonde manages to navigate all the crazy politics of magic at war with an easy smile for everyone they met. 

There’s the witches who seem to have joined various Resistance movements without seeming to care about their nationality. And the Resistance clearly didn’t care where the witches were from as long as the witches kept them as safe from harm as possible. Bucky could already guess that when the war was over, the witches would settle down with their Resistance fighters and just be happy about it. 

Various forest spirits crawled out of the woodwork. Some were friendly, helping guiding the Commandos to safety when they needed it and away from Nazi soldiers and Hydra bases. Other spirits were out for blood. Clawing their way out of the forests to try and rip the Commandos to shreds either from loyalty to Hydra or from being batshit crazy from the war, death, and destruction of the forests. 

On a missions in Poland they stumbled across the golem. The massive clay creature had been wandering around the countryside, just walking without any real purpose. None of them were quite sure how to approach it, nervous by the hulking shape as the seven foot tall creature just kind of...existed. Dum Dum loudly claimed it gave him the willies and practically herded them far far away from the golem. A week later Steve stumbled into the ruins of a village. The houses were burned, the people gone, and the smell of rot hung heavy in the air. The golem was there too, slumped unmoving on a raised patch of earth, no longer a creature just a lump of clay now. “I think it’s people were killed. I think that’s why it was wandering, and when the magic ran out...so did it,” Steve had whispered that night when he was curled up around Bucky, tears in his voice, “What the hell is happening?” Bucky couldn’t do anything but hold him close. (They would hear about the Final Solution six months later and that did send Steve out of the room in tears. Seven months after the golem the Commandos would liberate a concentration camp and that broke something in all of them. Bucky would never be able to forget.)

And of course, the land was soaked in blood and pain and fear. Another layer of suffering on top of all the pain from the previous world war that had laid the foundation for what was happening across Europe, namely the resurgence of a monster the Commandos tried to avoid. Demons. Not the Biblical type from hell, no. They did not run into those or find any proof of them. No, these demons were born from suffering and the dead, rising with unfinished business and a thirst for revenge. They were vicious monster who sometimes attacked the Germans, sometimes tried to get the Commandos with the ragged desperation of the already dead. And it was really only Saoirse’s charms that managed to keep them safe from harm. They were rage and fear and pain and Bucky was more than happy to avoid them for as much as possible. 

But even with all the chaos, the strangeness and the madness, they still managed to run normal missions. Hit and runs against Hydra, raids in factories and assistance given to the rest of the Allied troops. The Howling Commandos still landed on Normandy Beach with the rest of the soldiers, Captain America blasting through the Nazi defenses with the others close on his tail. The Howling Commandos still helped liberate Paris, helped the Red Army in the east as part of a diplomatic mission. Peggy’s photograph was still filmed in Steve’s compass, Howard Stark still played around with Hydra weaponry before being broken after creating the atomic bomb.

Even with magic, James Barnes still falls from a train the alps. Steve Rogers is still broken by grief and drinks in a bar with Peggy Carter before throwing himself madly into the Valkyrie and crashing it into the sea. The world still mourns them, Hydra stills gets ahold of Bucky and Steve still sleeps under the ice. That doesn’t change, those movements remain.

What does change is that Steve Rogers body may lay under the ice, but his spirit doesn’t. His soul, his spirit, his essence wakes up in what can be called with spirit world safe and sound in his Badb’s arms. Bucky is still tortured by Hydra as they try to create their greatest weapon yet, unaware of the magic running through his veins. The problem?

In this universe, Hydra fails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s it for the first world building section! There will be two interludes though before I get into the Avengers series (cause we know Bucky and Steve ain’t actually dead). The first interlude will focus on Bucky, and the second interlude will be about Steve. The first of them will get posted next Friday, cause I plan to stick to my schedule.

**Author's Note:**

> This entire premise started because I was talking with a friend like two years ago about maybe Steve’s need to fight everything is genetic. Like, he got it from Sarah and then we tried to figure out who she got it from and just decided that the whole family is descended from some gods out there. Six months of research later, I figured Badb Catha was perfect this new monster started. 
> 
> I’ve already got the first four stories finished, so the goal is a chapter will go up every other Friday night minimum (yes, including this Friday) so I keep writing and get this whole thing finished. Cause I already have spent a stupid amount of time and research on this so I will finish it!
> 
> Also, I do not have a beta reader because of how sporadic my writing time is so if anyone finds typos I do appreciate it. I try to catch as many as I can, but I read papers all day so after a while my eyes glaze over and I feel like death.


End file.
